Where Duty Ends
by Mr. 125
Summary: When an op in a jungle-filled swampworld goes horribly wrong, a group of marines are pitted against the growing darkness of the wild, as well as the savage and merciless Covenant forces... it's where duty ends.
1. Duty

**Author's introduction**

Welcome to Sigma Octanus II. It's not much to go on, but it's something. Before you ask, WDE basically stems from Terrence Malick's "The Thin Red Line" and Oliver Stone's "Platoon", then whatever there is in between. The idea of wading through uncharted territory with only a helmet, rifle, and the guy in front of you interested me, so I thought I would plug that into the Halo universe.

I'm fixing bits of this first chapter so that it ties nicely into EmF's sequel to "Alone" for this merging to work. Wish us luck.

_-125_

* * *

**Early 2552**

**En route to Sigma Octanus II**

**Aboard UNSC Destroyer **_**Boxer**_

Private Michael Dawson drummed his fingers against a thick textbook which lay on his lap with numerous sheets of paper strewn about. Dawson rested his head, mumbling to himself, trying to clear his head of sleep. The marines had all been woken up from cryo three hours earlier, and Dawson had spent that time awake and bleary-eyed.

He finally threw his pen down in frustration and snapped up his book.

"You should try to get some rest, Private." He heard an older man's voice from across the furnished ship's lounge area.

"After being frozen and shot through space," Dawson said, still scrutinizing and organizing the papers, "I think I've had enough, thanks."

The man chuckled and made his way over to the marine. "You old enough to join the service?"

"Come on, don't I look like it—" Dawson finally glanced up and saw the stern expression of the older man and suddenly rose and stood rigid, his pale face reddening. The papers on his lap scattered on the ground. "—Sir! Uh, Sergeant! My apologies, sir. I didn't realize…"

"You can lose the formalities, kid." The man took a seat across from Dawson, who dropped to a knee and quickly swept up his mess. He dumped the smattering of books and papers into the padded seat on his left.

The man stared at him for a brief moment, his steel-grey eyes staring through him. "Private… Dawson, is it? I'm—"

"Sergeant Blunt," Dawson quickly finished.

"Well done, marine," Blunt told him with a slight smile. "I'm impressed."

"I assume you're the CO of this outfit, sir."

"The Captain," Blunt said, "is the commanding officer, but I run this thing."

"It's an honour to meet with you. I read about you when I was in Basic."

The sergeant nodded and looked over to Dawson's work. "What's this?"

"Just some school work. Was half-way through my second year of university."

"I see. So what's a bright lad like you doing on the far side of this moon?"

Dawson thought for a moment, before replying. "I… don't know. Really, I think it was to answer the call."

"You went from school to go and fight a war?"

"Wouldn't you? I mean, isn't it a man's duty to fight back when his kind is being exterminated? Twenty five plus years and we're still fighting. UNSC needs everyone to push back the Covenant."

Blunt paused at this. "Promotional adverts taught you well, huh?"

"You've been fighting for all that time, haven't you, Sergeant? What brings you back?"

"The way I see it, Dawson, there are a few types of people in the armed forces. Whether you want to argue about it, you'll fall into a category regardless. There are those men and women who love the thrill of battle and live everyday for firing off their weapons. I like to call those people 'Helljumpers'—" Dawson smiled at this. "—The hopefuls, or the boys and girls who sign up who feel they want to make a difference… the majority of the Corps is made up of them unfortunately; and lastly, the old has-beens, like myself, who stick around just because anywhere else we would feel useless. Why take a dead-end white collar desk job when we were once on the front for half of our lives, I reckon."

"That's because you secretly want to go back to saving the world. Of course, that's the reason. Underneath the old grizzled veteran exterior, you're a patriotic hero who would give his right leg for the world."

Blunt smiled. "You really think I'm grizzled, Private? No, I don't expect I'll change the tide of war alone, but maybe I'll hold off the destruction of Earth just one more day. Oh yeah, and my right leg belongs to me and only me."

"You've got a real positive attitude, Sergeant. Anyone ever told you that?"

"You're enthusiastic, kid. I get that. While I admire that in a person, I hate to see it in a marine. I always see that quality die first in the men underneath my command. Maybe it won't be this tour, but it'll sneak up on you. Wear you down, tire you out."

"Call me stubborn, but I firmly believe duty is the driving force between everyone still fighting. Following blind? A duty to your country. Revenge? A duty to right wrongs… I could go on."

"When we're cornered, and gripped and held by the throat, or if we find ourselves fighting for _all_ the lives of our people when the time comes, only then is it our 'duty' to jump in the way of a bullet. Not before."

Sergeant Blunt met Dawson's eyes and said, "If you're looking to fulfill your sense of purpose, kid, you're not going to find it here, in Sigma Octanus."

The two were silent for almost a minute, listening to the rumble of the _Boxer_'s engines reverberating throughout the deck. The private fiddled with his hands before he looked at the older man. Changing the subject, he said, "In basic, there was an article about your military life—it started here, in 2525. It dubbed you a hero, but only touched down on that. What really happened?" He leaned forward intently once Blunt started to speak.

"They wrote up for all the survivors of that battle. I just continued to rack up the victories in the Covenant war following and others thought me to be one—and I quote—'Damned god-of-war'."

Dawson acknowledged this with a slight nod of his head, but he clearly wanted to know about what took place in the battle.

"The battle of Sigma Octanus II," Blunt carefully chose his words and hesitated for a moment, "was almost like a turning point, or even just one of the informal endings of the conflicts we've had with the Rebel forces. For years, the iron fist of the UNSC had been slack on the outer colonies and the border worlds. Naturally, this meant open ground for Rebels and pirates to claim. And with this battle, it demonstrated that the UNSC would not give in to them anywhere.

"I was just 'lucky' enough to be a part of it. I haven't thought much of it but since I'm revisiting the damn place in a few hours, it wouldn't hurt to remember it again."

* * *

**2525 – Sigma Octanus II – Second Rebel War**

"_Fix bayonets." _

The order was repeated with quiet murmurs throughout the line. While the concept of bayonets was dropped roughly in the late twentieth century, the poor visibility in the swamps had reintroduced fierce close quarter combat… not every man was armed with an M90 shotgun.

A standard issue combat knife would be securely taped to the barrel of the marine's HMG-38 rifle. But the device was flimsy and meeting with body armour would usually detach the knife from the rifle, or even snap the blade.

"_Smoke grenades, ready."_

The designated soldiers in the line set down their armaments and held the grenades out in front of their faces, ready to prime and lob them. The job was for men who could throw great distances. The plan was for the smoke to be scattered evenly after they exited from the jungle area so they'd be right on top of the enemy. A long-ranged battle was nearly impossible, and they didn't want their enemy to have even a glimpse of them out in the open.

Artillery on both sides had been pounding all four corners of the battlefield. Like a giant game of battleships, the guns would fire randomly into the canopy hoping to catch any entrenched men or other enemy gun emplacements, judging distance from the sound and impact. This sometimes resulted in friendly fire and set up a no-man's land between the rebels and the marines.

If the rebels saw them coming, it would simply be an explosive massacre. Today, the haze was thicker than most mornings and additional smoke would make the marines nearly invisible to the enemy… until it was too late.

The captain stepped to the front of the line and faced the survivors of his remaining company of just under one hundred. He was silent as he viewed his men, turned towards the distant, hidden enemy lines. The sunlight streamed through the trees and where there weren't patches of fog, dim sunlight bathed the men in almost a peaceful fashion. The calm before the storm.

"_Wait for the smoke to build, then go when I tell you. Be silent until the last second. They'll know we're coming, but the _when_ is how we'll take them."_

Private Blunt's stomach was troubled, like he was ready to puke. But he contained the feeling, and added another layer of tape to his bayonet. He checked his fragmentation grenades, but decided to carry only one. Most of the men had left any fancy equipment back at camp as it would weigh them down when it was time to run. They had only a rifle and the shirt on their back.

"_Once we're out of the smoke, we should be at the foot of the enemy positions. From there on you frag any rebel you come across. Take close-quarter weaponry and keep those blades tight. Don't hesitate to kill."_

The captain finally spoke, "This can be it, people. The end of the war can be here, now. Good luck, and I'll see you on the other side."

Minutes passed in uncomfortable silence.

The NCOs in charge of their squads and smoke grenades and nodded to one another. It was time.

"Smoke grenades! Throw 'em!"

The grenades hurled through the air and landed on the murky battlefield. Each one sparked and began to shoot out thick, billowy clouds of smoke. There was no turning back now.

"_All right, everybody! Let's move, let's move!"_

The word passed down the line, and in unison, the marines climbed from the ditch and set off at a brisk, but cautious, jog. The smoke clogged Blunt's senses. Everything was consumed by the blanket of haze and the swamp water tugged at his boots. All he could hear was the rapid clumps of everyone's feet. The white curled around each man, engulfing them like a beast and its prey. Blunt's heartbeat pulsed in his head, and all he could think about was putting one foot ahead of the other and keeping his rifle at the ready.

There was a startled yell from beside the private—beside his leg. The smoke grenades had swallowed up a lone enemy hiding in a shell hole.

The man saw the marines and began to raise the alarm. He brought his rifle up to bear, but a shaky recruit behind the private snapped off a single shot, taking the rebel in the lower gut. The sudden noise startled the advancing men, and everyone dropped to the ground, careful of returning enemy machine gun fire.

None came to them.

A corporal shoved the recruit aside and motioned him to "keep quiet and get out of here". The marine hastily complied, with Blunt falling in behind him. He saw the corporal look into the fox hole with the injured rebel. The man still had breath to alert the rest of his forces.

The marine dropped in and pulled his bayonet-fitted rifle backwards while Blunt quickly looked away and started forward again. The wounded rebel began to scream, but was silenced to a low, agonizing gasp as the blade was plunged into his sternum.

After another minute or two, they finally reached the end. The enemy was just mere yards away. The wind had blown the smoke out further, even so it drifted into the rebels' camp. They hunkered down, hidden in the screen and silence, waiting for the marines to regroup. The captain blew his whistle, and as one, the men charged at full speed towards the enemy.

They surged forward, yelling at the top of their lungs. Blunt scrambled over the terrain, trying his best not to lose his balance, keeping his eyes only on the marine in front of him. Suddenly, there was a rapid crackle of gunfire, and the man he was following gurgled and slumped forward, falling into the smoke.

Rebel soldiers had set up a machine gun and now began to unload on the dark figures in materializing through the smoke, filling the entire space with bullets. A couple marines successfully avoided their fire and leapt over the sandbags, throwing themselves upon the two men behind. One rebel was shot twice, once in the face. The second took a round in the gut, while both marines thrust their bayonets through his shirt and into his torso. He cried out and sank to his knees. One marine raised his rifle and put a round through his forehead, while the other pulled the bayonet-fitted weapon from the body.

They had reached the forward line of the enemy trench and scattered foxholes. Marines started jumping down to kill the rebels in a close-quarter melee. Blunt ignored them and followed the captain straight through the enemy camp at a heavy sprint with the bulk of the men.

A marine beside the private took a round through his chest and dropped to the ground with a groan. Blunt, still running, raised his rifle and in return fired off four rounds in a short burst, two finding his target. They had reached the heart of the base and their rapid surprise charge had slowed to a steady push.

The men in the command centre were not so unprepared and had already set up a second machine gun. When they opened up, Blunt managed to dive off behind one of the many hastily-erected instacrete buildings as three men who were in front of him took the smattering of rounds and toppled to the ground. The marines had already found some form of cover and were attempting to return fire. Blunt saw that he was in front of a building which he could use to gain elevation. The private clenched his jaw and fed a fresh magazine into his weapon.

On the count of three he eased open the door… no point in alerting guys if they didn't need to know. Blunt entered the room and saw a man claw at his handgun as the two suddenly locked eyes. There was no time for thinking as the private brought up his rifle and squeezed the trigger. The rounds caught the rebel in the side and the arm. He dropped the gun and slumped back against the wall, staring at Blunt with a pained expression, challenging him to finish the job. The private snatched the pistol away but didn't meet the wounded man's eyes. As he finally looked around, he saw about ten men lying on the ground, all injured. This was an aid station.

He thought about taking their lives, for all the hell they raised, for all the good men lying dead around the jungle…

But he couldn't.

He was a soldier, not a murderer. That's where the line was drawn, where his duty ended. He walked past the man he'd shot, leaving him for the next batch of POWs out of here. In more ways, aside from being shot, he was luckier than Blunt might be.

Blunt found his way to the roof which overlooked the rebels' position. He peered down the sights of his HMG-38 and determined that they were just in his range. With a continuous stream of fire, he hosed down the team manning the machine gun. Seeing this, the rest of the marines used the advantage to advance and storm the command centre.

In the concrete building, the marines with automatic heavy-assault rifles went in first to flush out the remaining rebels with grenades and hundreds of bullets, while Blunt met up with the others to secure the perimeter.

* * *

"The raid took all of ten minutes before the rest surrendered. It wasn't the final stand the rebels had hoped for. Many were already injured and exhausted, more so than we were. The fighting in the jungles had killed off most of them beforehand, and what was left was the ill-prepared and untrained." The sergeant stopped there and glanced at the private. Dawson was motionless throughout the entire story, but something told Blunt that the marine wasn't satisfied yet.

"I _have_ read the texts and AAR which followed and I assume you have, too. And you're probably thinking 'that's all?' right? Well, that _was_ all, Private."

"You were said to be a hero in that battle, and in every article I read you name pops up. What was so heroic about that battle?"

"There was nothing heroic, Dawson. All I did was survive." Blunt chuckled and said, "Some of the men I fought alongside over the years began to tell stories before and after battles about things in my career—some greatly exaggerated, but entertaining nonetheless— while others wrote up songs and poems. I do remember a bunch of recent sketches of me… portrayed as a tough, cigar-sucking hard-ass, killing Covies left and right. I don't know what I did to deserve all that, but I was like legend... a morale boost. That, kid, is how heroism works.

"Now, you really should get some sleep. We'll be landing in a few hours. I'll see you on the boats."

As Dawson saluted and left the lounge with his books, Blunt eased back in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment.

* * *

Two marines approach a surrendering group of rebels. They ordered them to put down their weapons, a request which they hastily complied to. But mercy was replaced by anger, and with a sudden burst of fire, the prisoners were all quickly executed before they could run. Blunt sat down on some sandbags and rested his legs for a moment. As his eyes wandered over to the aid station, he saw muzzle flash and heard a pistol go off multiple times. His eyes widened and he began to run over the station.

More shots.

He reached the door when the saw the captain put the last round of the weapon into the head of the rebel slumped against the wall—the one that Blunt had wounded earlier.

"Son of bitch," the private whispered as he watched the captain coolly eject the empty magazine and load a new one. The officer brushed past Blunt on his way out the door without making eye contact.

Blunt walked through the camp wearily, too exhausted to even care what happened next.

Another marine stepped over to a man on the ground. "Git up!" the marine spat, "You ain't hurt. I said 'on your feet!'" He grabbed the man by his collar and roughly pulled him up. The marine brought his shotgun up and shoved the barrel into the rebel's gut. "I'll teach you to play dead!"

Before Blunt could say anything, the marine squeezed the trigger. At point blank, the rebel's body dropped to the ground with a large, gaping hole in his chest. The soldier turned to the next rebel, who trembled in fear. He clubbed the man in the side of the head with the butt of his shotgun.

The marine whirled around to face Blunt, his weapon poised. He had a crazed look on his face, like a wild primal creature. What was left of the marine was insanity and the need to kill. Seeing only a bewildered Blunt, he turned back the man who lay on the ground, with a gash on his temple. He pumped a shell into the chamber and pointed it at the back of the rebel's head.

"Queen!" a voice barked and both Blunt and the marine froze. Looking over, a non-com stood a few feet away, an assault rifle trained on Queen. "You kill that man and I will take you down with him. Do you hear me?"

Queen shook uncontrollably in rage and slowly shook his head. "Screw you, Sarge. These boys are gonna pay for those two weeks of hell." When the sergeant didn't ease up, Queen raised his chin defiantly and growled, "So that's how it is, huh? Then do it. You don't have the balls to—"

With that, the non-com lowered his rifle only slightly and fired off a round. Queen swore and yelped in pain as he clutched his thigh and fell to the ground.

"Blunt, go get his weapon." The sergeant lowered his rifle and ignored Queen's curses and whimpers. "Damn fine job today. I don't know if we're done for good, but you know what the best part is?"

Blunt held the shotgun gingerly. "What's that?"

The non-com looked out into the noon-sky and almost smiled. "We'll never have to see this god-awful place again."


	2. Insertion

**A/n:** I see Electromotive Force has come up with a new story, so this has inspired me to update this. The obvious title change and a revised chapter one. Enjoy chapter two.

* * *

Two pelicans glided through the afternoon sky, rushing over the canopy of the darkened jungle underneath. The hums of thrusters rushed through the trees, drowning out the eerie sounds of bird calls and other creatures. Blunt eased back in his seat and stared out of the open rear hatch, taking in the view. Sigma Octanus II was deceptively beautiful, like a scene from a mural. Where there wasn't the green of the jungle, there was cliffs and mountain, peaks which rose through the clouds and out of Blunt's vision, chasms which suddenly dropped off into nothingness, and great roaring waterworks which stretched for miles in every direction.

The sergeant cast a look over at Dawson, who was immersed in a book. The private paused to push up his glasses, which were sliding down his nose. Blunt's eyes drifted past the marine who manned the tail gun, as the barrel lazily scanned the jungle as it roared past.

"ETA one minute!" the pilot called from the cockpit. "You boys are lucky. No fire coming your way. Maybe the Covies ain't here today."

"They're out there," he told him, gazing deep into the jungle almost as if he could penetrate the green. "They're out there."

Blunt checked over his equipment, making sure his sidearm was securely fastened, his rations were packed, and his radio was functional. He zipped up his thin combat jacket and reached up into the weapon compartment above his head. A moment later, he produced a worn, beat up looking M90 shotgun and a fresh box of ammunition. On its side was the name "Marion", painted in elaborate white lettering. There had been a tally scratched onto the barrel, but was nearly covered by the paint. Balancing the weapon on his knees, he tore into the box and fed twelve shells into the shotgun. The rest were placed in a satchel which he slung over his head and rested on his right shoulder.

Glancing at Dawson, the private was fumbling with a fresh magazine to feed into his MA5K assault rifle. Finally slapping it in, he noticed the sergeant's gaze and nodded, trying to calm his pre-combat jitters. Some of the marines on the pelican were even greener than Dawson and were doing everything right with their weapons, but forgot necessities like food and other survival gear. Finally straightening things out, Blunt stood to stretch out his legs. The pelican began to slowly descend, moving in a slow, wide circle searching for a suitable landing zone.

The captain exited from the cockpit, paused to gather a few things, then joined Blunt at the rear hatch.

"Sergeant," he greeted, which Blunt returned with a subtle nod. "I think someone up there, at command, must hate us or something. I remember tellin' you, back thirteen years ago how we'd never have to see this place again, huh? Well, here we are. Sigma Octanus II." The captain laughed and put a cigarette to his lips.

"Captain Hill," Blunt said while declining an offer of a smoke, "it's a pleasure working with you again."

"That it is, Sergeant." Hill slung an assault rifle over his shoulder and turned to the rest of the marines on the pelican as the bird finally came to a slow and settled to the ground. The troop compartment bounced a little as the landing gear touched down and the pilots kept the engine warm. Hill called out, "Okay, men! Let's move it out and see if we can find where the hell we are on the map."

"We'll be back in a few hours with more men and more supplies, sir," the warrant officer told Hill. "Hurry up and kill those bastards so we can all get the hell out of here and back home, hey?"

"Got that right, Finch. See you."

The captain jumped out and strode forward. Blunt got off next, his shotgun held loosely with one hand and his helmet underneath his other arm. The other marines followed shortly. Where they landed, the area looked safe. Foxholes had been dug beforehand, sensors and barbed wire were set up, bunkers of quick-dry-instacrete were hardened, and a command post was already erected. As the marines from both pelicans entered the camp, men behind machine gun set ups in foxholes stole glances at them, but resumed their sentry duty. The flaps of the command tent parted and a marine stepped outside.

"Welcome to camp, kids! Don't drink the water and don't feed the animals," the marine called out, while making his way over to Hill and Blunt with a slight limp. Still walking, he saluted lazily. "Captain, sir!" But as the three came together, discoveries were instantly made.

The captain squinted a little and his face deepened to a slight scowl. "Queen, they made you sergeant now."

"Yes sir, I am," he said with a grin. He looked over Hill's shoulder. "Blunt, how you holding up? You made sergeant, too?"

Blunt merely nodded, but his gaze refused to meet Queen's eyes. Hill coughed uncomfortably then asked, "So what's the situation, Sergeant?"

"We left this morning, landed a few hours before you did, to secure an LZ for you guys. We ran a few patrols since then. This must be a joke or something, 'cause I'll be damned if there are Covenant on this rock at all."

"Reports say there've been at least three Covenant ships passing by this place in the last few days. Why they haven't glassed it is beyond me." The captain dropped his cigarette butt and stomped it out on the ground. "You sure you haven't seen any landing craft go by today?"

"Nothing," Queen shook his head. He stared at Blunt, then motioned to _Marion_. "Hey, Blunt, how's my shotgun working out for you?"

"Fine." The sergeant muttered.

"How many kills you got?"

Blunt shot the man a look and ignored him. Receiving no response, Queen turned back to Hill and shook his head again. "Damn waste of a day, if you ask me. There ain't nothing in this mud, no sir."

"I thought as much," Hill muttered. "Shit."

Queen lit a cigarette and looked around. "What's the plan now, sir?"

"I'm not sure," the captain said, bowing his head to scratch the back of his neck. "Am I the ranking officer here?"

"Looks like you're in charge. Lieutenant Burns is out with ten men, searching the place one last time, then you've got me an' Blunt."

"First Lieutenant Burns? Okay, all right, Queen, go have a smoke," Hill told the sergeant absentmindedly. Queen raised his stick in a "cheers" fashion and limped away. "Blunt, let's see if we can't think of something to do."

* * *

In the command tent, Hill set down his rifle and helmet on a folding table. The sergeant set down his helmet, but kept his shotgun cradled in his arms. The captain set a foot on the seat of a folding chair and rested his hands on his knee.

"Sergeant, Lieutenant Burns is a moron. I honestly don't know how's still alive. Doesn't know how to follow a damn order and all he does is get his men killed."

"Can he fight?"

"Sure, holds his own well in a firefight. He's got a real problem with the chain of command and… he's got the Spartan complex."

"Spartan complex?"

"A real wannabe hero, the kind of guy you might see take up weapons in both arms to 'save the day'."

"Is that it, sir?"

"Uh, and he's kind of an asshole."

Blunt's expression was impassive, but it looked as though he were containing a laugh. Hill saw this and smiled as well. "But honestly, if it came down to it, I would rather have Queen on my squad than Burns. And that's saying something."

"Why, did you shoot the lieutenant too?"

"Ha-ha, Blunt. Back to my original point, seeing how Burns is a moron, he might have missed something. Think you're up to making one final sweep? This is an order, by the way."

"What am I going to say? No? I'll get right on it, captain."

"Good, I'll see if I can transmit a message back to the _Boxer_ that this place is empty."

* * *

"David, bring up the rear. Nichols, you're on point. The rest of you fall in," Blunt ordered as his squad made their way through the dense foliage in a staggered line. Blunt had brought Dawson along for the experience, and it was unlikely they'd run into too much trouble if Burns and his men already toured the place without getting themselves killed. The sergeant walked beside the private, who fumbled with his assault rifle while trying to heft his equipment pack. "How are you holding up, Dawson?"

"Just fine, sir. Y'know, basic training was never like this."

"Maybe. Who did you get?"

"Stevens."

"Oh, Jesus. Listen, Dawson, you'd better stick close to the captain or myself. Between you and me, it's a wonder Stevens got put in charge of recruits when he failed as one."

Dawson was silent for a moment, but continued stumbling over the soggy ground. "Failed as one?"

"The only week I was brought in to show recruits a thing or two, Stevens was the only soldier I deemed unfit for combat. But since the Covenant war is pretty serious, they couldn't afford to make any cuts."

"What was wrong with him?"

"If you've ever met a complete idiot, chances are it would fit Stevens' description. I'm all for teaching a man to become a soldier, but Stevens was a guy who had watched too many movies as a child. His proposed tactics were laughable at best. First time in simulated combat, he refused to budge from one spot. When his team finally got him up, he was the worst shot I ever saw. Couldn't hit a target if he were at point blank range. Not all recruits have nerves of steel or are too skilled with a rifle, I know, but it's funny because he used to talk down to the other recruits, like he was some sort of divine saviour. Let's just say he _had_ the Spartan complex."

"The Spartan complex?"

"Sergeant, we've got a dead one here!"

Before he could relay Hill's definition to Dawson, Blunt walked over to Nichols who stood over a dead marine. Looked like he'd been hit by a plasma bolt in the back of the head… burned through his helmet and his skull. His dogtags were missing, so Burns and his men must've grabbed them and made a run for it. The path Blunt was traveling on was the only recognizable one back to camp, but he hadn't returned, nor had Blunt seen him on his way out. The lieutenant might have run further down the path to backtrack and find a good place to hold out against an attack. That, or the moron got turned around and got himself lost for it.

Blunt stood and faced his men. "Let's not hang around and get ourselves killed. Keep moving. If you see any Covenant, that ends our mission. We kill it and run back to camp."

The sergeant led the line through the jungle, his shotgun out in front of him at the ready. The wild animal calls played at his nerves and every rustle of movement made the men twitch. There was the chatter of an automatic weapon and familiar human yelling. Blunt broke into a run and sure enough, Burns and his men were pinned down behind large rocks or a fallen tree trunk firing at, sure enough, Covie forces.

The sergeant ordered his men to stay put and help out if they could. Blunt rapidly scrambled over the marsh to the lieutenant. Burns glanced at him for a second and resumed firing.

"Lieutenant Burns? I'm Sergeant Blunt. What happened here, sir?"

"Plasma bolt hit one of mine, so we figured to make a break for it when these bastards cut us off from the base. Is the camp okay? Did you all manage to fight them back?"

The captain was right. Burns _was_ a moron.

"Actually, Lieutenant, the camp is back this way. You didn't check in, so the captain thought to send a squad in after you. We're falling back now, so we can put up a defense and get some more reinforcements and supplies."

Burns nodded and produced a grenade from his belt. He primed it and tossed it over the log in the general direction of the enemy. Alien screams rewarded his throw, and he ordered his men to fall back to Blunt's squad.

Covenant were on this planet after all. Mission-freakin'-accomplished.

* * *

"Blunt, you're back. How did it go?" Hill asked with a smile. "Lieutenant?"

"Yes sir. Hello, sir," Burns replied with an embarrassed frown.

"We ran into a squad or more of Covenant, so I guess we're here to stay. Have you contacted the _Boxer _already?" Blunt said, finally setting down his weapon on the table.

Hill grimaced and said, "I told them we were ready to leave as soon as you two got back, but they were loading up pelicans when I called. Hopefully they left the supplies on them. Fine, Burns, radio them again and tell them to start sending over the good stuff."

"Sir!" the lieutenant saluted crisply and turned to work the radio.

Blunt took a seat at the flimsy table across from Queen, who was busy cleaning and stripping down his pistol, and tried to relax. Hill brought out a glass bottle and four wineglasses. He set them down and uncorked the bottle.

"It was all neatly packed up in the ammunition crate we brought in our pelican," Hill announced with a slight grin. Hill picked up a full glass and handed it over to Burns, who was still fiddling with the radio.

"Can't transmit anything through this damn jungle," the lieutenant growled. "Too much interference."

"Come on, Burns, I used it just half and hour ago."

"Okay, I have it. I think the trouble's on their end."

"Just get through. I'll feel safer once we see the pretty lights of our birds touching down tonight. But for now, this stuff will have to do." Hill poured himself a glass.

"I agree to that. It's a homecoming present from the commander, says the note," Queen added, assembling his sidearm and loading a fresh magazine into it. He delicately took the remaining glasses and passed one over to Blunt, who nodded his thanks.

"_Homecoming_ present? That woman has a funny sense of humour," Blunt muttered and brought the glass to his lips.

"_Commander, we can't take _-garbled- _this! We need to abandon ship, now!"_

"_Lieutenant, shut your -_garbled_- and man your station. Divert all unnecessary power to weapons control. Wyatt, do we -_garbled-_ power to fire our MAC? Wyatt? Shit! Cadman, take over his station. NOW!"_

A voices on the other side suddenly came through, crackly and static-y, and filled the tent. Burns had accidentally cranked up the volume, but he made no move to turn it down now. They were listening in on the bridge of the _Boxer_. The strained voices were obviously those of the crewmembers and her commander, and their ship was under fire.

Blunt had spilled his drink when the transmission came through. He set the glass down now and took his shotgun into his arms. Hill stood helplessly, the contents of the bottle he held shook from the tremors in his hand. Both Queen and Burns had stopped to listen and were dead silent. Hill stepped forward and keyed the mic.

"Commander, do you read? This is Captain Hill from Baker Company. Say again, do you read?"

"Captain, they don't seem to be even connected to us," Burns whispered. "They killed power to communications. It's purely one way."

"_Ma'am, I repeat, the ship isn't going to last much longer. We need to leave."_

"_Did the pelicans make it out?"_

"_Pelican three was destroyed when they hit the hangar, ma'am. One and two are already underway."_

"_Good. The men planet side can finish the job, and let's hope they can. We're done here, ladies and gentlemen, we're done. Cadman, load up everything we have left. I want missiles, nukes, and whatever power left on the ship for the MAC."_

"_Aye, all weaponry active."_

"_Do it, Lieutenant."_

And as if the commander knew the four marines were listening, she whispered sadly,_ "Goodnight, folks."_

"_Firing…-_garbled-_"_

Hill swore and sunk into a chair, unable to do anything to help the commander. They waited to hear any more, but somehow they all knew that was it. The _Boxer_ and her crew were gone.


	3. Swallowed Up

Note: Yeah, I wanted to return because I felt bad about leaving things unfinished, and since classes were cancelled tomorrow, I think I could get a chapter done before tonight.

* * *

"Oh shit."

Burns said it, but the other three were all thinking it. They stared at the radio for a little while—Hill with the excuse of rethinking their plans— the others mostly out of disbelief.

The captain swore and kicked his folding chair over. He turned to Burns and the NCOs. "You say there are ground forces on this rock, and on top of that, we have Covie warships in the air?"

"Do we know how many?" Blunt asked.

"Could be one, could be the entire goddamn Covenant armada," Burns told him. "But one of our frigates isn't even enough to…"

"I know, Lieutenant," Hill muttered. "Jesus, I hope that woman took some of the bastards down with her. Now we're trapped and left with enough supplies for a day trip. What are our options?"

They didn't have a lot. It would be almost impossible to send out a transmission with their shoddy equipment, so receiving help or a ride out was out of the question. And if any up-theres actually noticed the Boxer's disappearance, it would take weeks for them to send out a search party… and in some cases, they wouldn't even bother if they knew the amount of Covies in the area. Screw the stranded guys; they served with honour and bravery and we regret to inform you, ma'am.

"We wait," Blunt offered his opinion. "We're already in one group now, and it's too much effort to keep everyone together out _there_." He was referring to the jungle.

"We certainly learned our mistakes," the captain said. "I'd go with that, but…"

"But once the Indians ride over the hill, what then?" Burns finished. Hill looked at Blunt and shrugged in reluctant agreement. "I'm no tactician—"

"Obviously," Hill mumbled under his breath.

"—but if you haven't noticed, we _are_ kind of in the middle of open space. We'd be the first to get hit. The Covies might or might not be good at bush-whacking, but that's a chance I'm willing to take."

Hill considered this, then told him, "You work better under pressure, Burns." He caught Blunt's eye and sighed. "Burns is right. We have no proper defenses to repel a full-scale attack, and if the Covies are as dumb as we think, we might actually have a chance to outmaneuver them in the jungle."

Blunt spoke in a low tone. "To be fair, Captain, we suffered as much as we did because we broke the line and lacked cohesion until the very end. We lost as much ground as we gained."

"Fog only parts in front of you, but closes again behind you," Queen recited, returning from outside.

"And if you're not careful, it'll swallow you whole." Blunt added, finishing the common comparison from the vets of the battle.

Hill nodded and explained to Burns, "Kid in my squad who used to come up with the most overdone pieces of poetry you'd ever see."

"I see. Where's he now?"

Blunt scratched at his face and said, "He's dead. Found his body on the bottom of a rebel foxhole couple of days after we won. They'd beaten him to death days before."

"I'm sorry," Burns said, his face impassive.

Queen interrupted, "Someone picked up contacts on the outermost sensors. It might even be a few stupid grunts wandering around the jungle, but we'll wait to see if they get any closer."

As he said this, a marine from outside got his attention and spoke to him. Queen paled and announced to the men inside the command tent, "Outermost sensors are down, and so are the inner ones. They're dropships, sir. They're not too far off now."

"Dammit, this place just keeps getting worse before it gets better," Hill growled as they scrambled to dress for combat. "Get everyone outside armed, Queen, and tell them to kill the lights. Hopefully they'll overlook us.

"Blunt, looks like you got your wish. We don't have the time to organize a run through the jungle now."

"I'm thrilled, sir." Blunt tossed an MA5U assault rifle from a weapons container to Queen, who accepted the weapon and ducked through the tent flaps to raise the alarm. Blunt donned his helmet once again and looked over his shotgun and slid his sidearm in its holster.

The MA5U was a variation of the MA5B, with most of its outer casing removed, much like the MA5K used by special forces. In such conditions as Sigma Octanus II's, many marines didn't care for carrying extra weight on their weaponry. It was cheap and effective and usually tough.

Hill loaded his M6 pistol and also chose the assault rifle. Blunt's M90 might have been considered a CQB weapon, but many people didn't know that it was surprisingly effective at medium range in addition to its frightening short ranged capabilities. It was accurate to a certain degree, as well.

The captain looked at Blunt, nodded his good luck and hit the switch for power in the tent. Followed by Burns, the two exited into the camp, where many other lamps were being switched off. Then Queen finally killed the power to the generator, and the powerful field lights shut off, quickly engulfing the men in darkness. They could barely see each other, only through the light of the stars. The marines huddled close together in groups, searching for the alien soldiers. Blunt tapped Hill on the shoulder, and pointed out flashing lights in the sky. The Covenant U-shaped dropships began to take form in their eyes.

"Do they see us?" Hill asked, his gaze fixated on the looming threat.

"They're definitely searching."

Four ships flew in closer, fanning out and edging closer to the camp. Blunt could see the shiny armoured plating of their turrets situated underneath their bodies, swiveling around and searching for targets. The sergeant wished he had the firepower to take care of these ships… the satisfying _whoosh_ as the launcher jerked back and the rocket streaked forward… anything to drive these things away.

"Sergeant Blunt!" came a surprised cry. Blunt whirled around to see a hulking shape of an elite bounding forward from the jungle with a plasma sword drawn. It roared and raised the weapon over its head, as if it were having trouble seeing its enemies in the dark. The marines didn't have that problem.

"Concentrate your fire," Blunt ordered and brought _Marion_'s sights to his eyes. He squeezed the trigger and the blast shattered the night silence. The pellets peppered the elite's shielding, and then everyone else opened up. The muzzle flash from each weapon combined lit up the camp as the alien was torn to shreds from the combined fire. Seeing this, the dropships flew in, spewing plasma all over the camp. As the marines ran to seek cover, the rest of the elite's forces charged from their hiding places as a wave of alien flesh.

Blunt had dug himself in and the dropships hadn't come near his position yet. The captain and Blunt came out of their cover and targeted the flood of enemies. The sergeant's second shell took down two grunts, and he pumped it and proceeded to empty the chamber until there were no more remaining shells in his weapon. Hill carefully looked down the sights and unloaded the magazine in uncontrolled bursts. Two dropships had delivered their loads of troops in the center of the camp, while more Covies emerged from all sides of the jungle.

The battle was all going to hell. The Covenant seemed to lack cohesion and simply rushed forward to be cut down. The marines, however, were not doing any better. They were surrounded, and they were firing away at anything that vaguely appeared alien. Many who had not been killed by stray plasma discharge fired by the Covenant small arms and that from above were moving around the camp, firing on the run.

Queen had nearly been hit by the stream of projectiles from the still-airbourne dropships, and was being followed by a few other marines. They stopped every now and then to catch their breath and shred through a few more aliens. Sergeant Queen knew this couldn't end well, and was yelling for the rest of the men to find the captain for a retreat into the jungle. The sergeant broke into a hard sprint, while some men behind him shot their rifles from the hip at an oncoming group of Covenant. The grunts came down hard, and the elite pushed through the hail of bullets. Queen slowed down his pace and lined the alien up in his sights. He unleashed a burst of six rounds, and puffs of alien blood exploded on the elite's chest and head.

Finally, he slid into Hill and Blunt's foxhole. Burns dropped in as well, throwing aside a spent magazine. The surviving marines took up position and held back more Covenant.

"We can't stay here, Captain," Queen said. "It's a lost cause."

Blunt, his eyes tingling from the muzzle flash and plasma, had to agree with the man. It was a stupid idea to go into the jungle in the first place, but in the dark without their bearings and knowledge of who was alive was suicidal for everyone in the group. But disappearing into the darkness was just a little bit better than staying and dying, he had to admit. He hoped the guerilla warfare with the rebels had trained him for this. He looked at Hill and nodded sorely.

The captain saw this and consented. "Queen, get some men to cover our retreat. Stay close and do not fall behind."

"Got it." Queen climbed over the edge to inform the rest of the marines. Soon, they were all together save for two men who brought up the rear, running slightly sideways their weapons trained behind the group. Queen and Blunt threw grenades to buy them some time, then Hill whistled and began to run where the Covenant could not follow.

Blunt took a deep breath and let the fog swallow him once again.

* * *

Note: I think I'll cut down the length of these stories to maybe ten-fifteen chapters each, that way I won't have to go through writer's block.

I'd appreciate a review if you like it or hated WDE thus far. I'm cool with any, I guess. Preferably positive, if you think it deserves one. Or if you want to chat, I'm always open to friendly conversation.

Check my profile for further updates and so on.


	4. Walk in the Woods

"Who's still alive?"

The captain looked over his men, who were sprawled on the ground lying on their backs or half-sitting up.

The marines had kept running for the better part of the night, fueled only by the pure-caffeine sticks found in their rucksacks. Dawn had broken, shining light through the breaks in the canopy. It had become much cooler, Blunt saw when exhaling. His entire body ached from the unknown-mile'd hike. 

Each soldier called out their names wearily, while the captain counted out how many he had left. He didn't even have a list of how many they'd started out with, but they had to assume everyone who was not present was dead. Even if they had wandered off, they might spend some time going nowhere; eventually they might run into Covenant patrols or worse. Some men told stories of Sigma Octanus' monsters, and while Blunt was too old to believe in fairy tales, he did believe the place would find a way to kill stragglers and the like. 

And a lot of men were missing. Blunt knew they'd lost their rear guards towards the middle of the run, when they decided to slow down. The elites had hacked them to pieces when they were least expecting it. The marines had managed to take down only one before continuing on in the night. Added with the poor visibility, some had probably dropped out to catch their breath… Blunt and many others didn't have high hopes for those marines.

Blunt looked around to see Queen and Burns still with the group Nichols, Dawson, and a few others from the sergeants' squads were hanging on—barely. As far as he could tell, the two sergeants and officers were the only ones with real combat experience. Well, that wasn't completely fair, because these men _had_ all survived an attack. Dawson's glasses had a thin, hairline crack on the left lens where he had probably dropped and recovered the pair. The private's face looked dirty, grey and worn-out… like the rest of them.

"What's the plan now?" Queen asked, his eyes still kept on their surroundings, wary of Covenant.

The captain was unsure of himself, although, he needed to keep an air of command around him. He gripped his rifle tightly and looked around. "How much ammo do we all have?"

Blunt had the shells from his satchel to burn up, but the majority were down to a few mags… not nearly enough to engage in another firefight with shielded elites. 

"We'll need to find those pelicans that the commander said were dropping in. Hopefully they made it down okay."

"Good news for us, good news for the pilots of those birds. How're we going to find them?" 

Hill snapped his fingers and removed a beat-up UNSC transmitter device from his jacket pocket. "These things work two way if you can connect 'em up right. Anybody got a computer?"

This generated a few chuckles from the men, but they were silent when they saw the captain was being completely serious. Then one recruit raised his hand and asked, "Will a chatter work?"

The captain shrugged and motioned for the man to toss it over to him. While he searched for an adaptor, the recruit looked at the others with a sheepish grin. "I kinda forgot it in my pocket when we left the ship. Call it a good luck charm."

"Nice one, man."

"Hey, anybody know the General's number?"

"Does it even work this far out?"

"Tell him we want out. And beer."

Queen laughed and slapped him on the back and said, "Saved by the new guy. When we get out of here, I'm buying you a beer."

"This should be it," Hill said fiddling with the device. "There's a catch, though. Since this is an 'emergency' system transmitter, that's what it finds. Pelicans give off their location immediately if they are severely damaged, other than that, they won't appear on this screen."

"There won't even be a location if the damn things got destroyed either, so let's hope for something," Queen growled. "I don't wanna stay still for too much longer."

"Let's power this bitch up," the captain thought aloud. The chatter screen came to life, and two dots were seen blinking on the screen… unfortunately in two very different spots. Hill frowned, but at least they might be able to salvage anything useful or radio out for evac. "Gentlemen, we have locations. We'll head to the one closest to us first."

The marines whooped and got to their feet, happy to be useful. Blunt couldn't share their enthusiasm, because he knew that a few crates of ammunition and supplies might help them to last another week or so, but after it all runs out… they'll be back at square one. They fell in with renewed energy, anyway.

"Have you considered an escape plan for us yet, Captain?" Blunt asked, walking beside Hill.

"One thing at a time, Blunt," the captain said, then lowered his voice, "but no, I haven't. You know, what we really need to invent is some form of teleportation. I'd call it a damned miracle, if anything."

"If someone comes up with a teleporter to get us out of here, I'd give him a kiss on the lips and recommend him for a promotion," Blunt said dryly. "Until then, we're stuck here on our own."

* * *

Warrant Officer Simon Finch looked around with a scowl on his face and his sidearm drawn. The washed-out looking concrete surrounded him on all sides, playing hell with his nerves. He knew the place was probably deserted, although part of him wished it weren't. 

Finch was the second pilot to get his bird out of the hangar, closely followed by an explosion caused by a dreaded plasma torpedo which had melted through the bay doors and come out through the other side of the _Boxer_. He hated himself for leaving his co-pilot behind. He watched her sprint across the hangar, her boots heavy on the steel deck plating as the Commander ordered the evacuation, fumbling with her helmet and checking over her sealed flight suit. He even had the rear hatch open and the pelican powered up, ready for her to make the jump. 

But the blue flash of a fired torpedo came into the corner of his eye as it cut through space. He was screaming now for the woman to hurry up so he could rocket out of there. The first pelican had already cleared the hangar and was making its way down to the surface, while the third was still in the middle of loading up extra troops and supplies. Even as her crew was working at "triple time" to get the bird ready to fly, it was already too late.

His co-pilot slowed her pace as she turned to face the blinding light approaching the ship, and even she knew she wouldn't make it. Finch could still see her as she sadly motioned for him to leave, and like anyone who valued his life, was forced to punch it and go, yelling profanities in every sense of the word. He swore as he banked down sharply to avoid the Covenant projectile which flew overhead, threatening to melt through the pelican's hull. He looked back to watch the plasma engulf the bay and the third pelican's munitions go off inside. Gasses vented from the gaping hole, sucking out debris and the flailing bodies of marines and techs.

When the first pelican entered atmo, its starboard engine took a hit from a plasma bolt and the last Finch saw of that bird was its form illuminated by the fire and smoke streaking from its wound when she spiraled into the uncharted territory below. He couldn't afford to cut power and give them a lift, because he'd been picked up by two U-shaped Covie dropships that made their presence known by spitting plasma at him wildly. To make matters worse, the marines planetside must have ordered radio silence and killed all power, because it was impossible to pick out where he dropped them off earlier that day. 

So he hit the throttle and switched off his own lights, hoping to lose his pursuers. Unfortunately, the bird wasn't as agile as some of the custom-built vessels used as smuggling ships the UNSC had seized during the war with the Innies, Finch had to admit, so it looked like he couldn't fly really low and into winding, narrow passages. But transportation wasn't the use for a pelican, and he put the Anvil missiles to work, whirling around and firing off two. He must have hit something important, as one Covenant ship took the missile and went up in flames, her pilot losing control and driving her straight into the canopy. The second pulled up at the last second and the Anvil struck its turret, rendering the ship weaponless. Finch cheered through clenched teeth and opened up with both 70mm chin guns as the wounded predator swooped across the view of his canopy. The rounds tore through the right troop compartment, opening the thing up to see the Covenant ground forces roll out, some dead and some alive, bleeding or on fire. They plummeted towards the ground, and the dropship doused its lights and turned to finally run with only half of its load still alive.

Finch headed in the opposite direction with a dark grin.

Now, found himself in a deserted village of concrete fortifications where he'd landed the night before. Satisfied that his bird was in working condition, he deactivated his tracking device to completely mask his position. He hoped that the marines had pulled through or were at least in the jungle somewhere alive. Or it could be that the complete silence was the work of Covenant and he was truly the only one left alive on Sigma Octanus. 

This place gave him the creeps… dead silent and untouched for some time now. It sort of had a mystical quality about it, but mostly, the aura of death was the only thing Finch could feel.

* * *

"We got something!" a marine called out, lowering his rifle and pointing out a line of smoke in the distance. Blunt's grip tightened on his M90 and the men hurried their pace. Minutes later, they found the wreckage of a pelican dropship. Its forward right thruster had taken a hit and the pilot most likely lost control. The trip through the branches had not been kind to it, or them. The cockpit looked crumpled like it were made of paper, a couple more thrusters had come off violently, and the troop compartment was split open from the impact. The smell of fuel, burnt materials and dead bodies lingered in the air, as the marines came in closer for inspection. Indeed, through the broken interior, Blunt could see one pilot decapitated in the crash and the other with a reinforcing steel bar jammed through his torso. Lying on the blood tray and around the crash site were all dead marines, with their weapons littered around them. What was left of them wasn't pretty… it was a long way to fall from the air. To his dismay, he realized this was the pelican that was supposed to bring the reinforcements. This meant more dead and even less ammunition than if they found the supply bird.

"Captain?" Burns asked, while the rest of the men secured the area in silence. It didn't look like the Covies had come here, for they would have taken the bodies for the lesser ranks to eat, but the marines kept close together anyway.

"If we got this position, Covies probably do as well. We keep moving, then."

Queen nodded and turned to the men. "Take what you can carry, and if you're running low on ammo, now's the time."

A recruit looked appalled at the thought of looting the dead. He looked at the mangled corpses voiced his thoughts. "What about these guys? What do we do with them?" When no one replied, he repeated the question.

"We leave them," Blunt said, already on his knees collecting unused grenades and bandoliers. "If we're being followed, they'll know where we've been if we touch them."

"Won't they see all this crap we're leaving behind?" Dawson was in the middle of sorting through a few magazines, checking ammunition and throwing aside the pouches with shaky hands.

"A lot of the Covies don't know how to operate a human firearm, and the rest don't care to find out. All they need to know is if the bodies have been moved or not," Blunt explained. "But if we ever get out of here, we'll give them a proper burial. For now…" He trailed off as he unclipped a dog tag from another.

* * *

Finch was becoming almost positive that he was the last man in this world. The concrete ran across a pretty large distance. He took a walk among the bunkers and found old spent shell casings… the only evidence he'd found of the large battle which had taken place years ago. Under any other circumstances, he would have enjoyed the history lesson.

Most puzzling, however, was at the centre of the encampment. It was a large stone structure complete with an extremely tall tower which, he was convinced, was not meant for climbing. Like everything else around him, it looked like it was decaying. Around its base were ancient runes, delicately cut into the stone.

Must have been a temple from some old forgotten civilization, Finch thought. Odd, though, because he thought all humans had originated from Earth and the only other worlds with humans on them were only colonized in the last few centuries or so.

Oh well.

Without another thought, he bent to examine a shell casing. He was becoming confident there was no reason the Covenant would find him here, so he might as well relax.


	5. Ambush

The marines had slowed their pace considerably and they were in higher spirits since their retreat. Blunt supposed those men looked to their NCOs for support, so he played along in pretending nothing was wrong, even though he still had the impending sense of doom deep in his gut. Coupled with the fact Queen was running out of cigarettes… the men had joked that if you take those sticks away from the sergeant for a couple of days and sent him to the frontlines, he'd scare away the Covies with one of his mood swings within a matter of minutes. But the scary thing was, Blunt didn't doubt it.

Queen wasn't careless like Burns, as he made friends inside his squad as well as in Blunt's, excluding Blunt himself. The problem was, he cared too much at times. Was reckless because of this, even. What separated the two sergeants was their attitudes towards fighting. Blunt was level-headed in everything. He was prepared to help his men if necessary, but he didn't often get choked up if they met an unfortunate end. He accepted that in war, everybody loses someone on either side… otherwise it wouldn't be called a war. But Queen felt that it was his duty to make the other guys suffer as much as he—or any of his men—had when he had the chance to. Killing was a way to make things right, it seemed. 

Blunt often asked himself, did it make him cold to be detached? Or did it make him saner?

Anyhow, it didn't seem to matter much now. The marines were telling stories and jokes like before, marching through the overgrowth like a stroll in the park, and everyone was a little more relaxed. Blunt caught up with Dawson.

"So, was the call worth it?"

Dawson chuckled, keeping his eyes ahead. "It was a poor choice of words, I admit."

"Well, no. This was a poor choice of mission."

"If you say so. I know, we're ultimately screwed and all that, but honestly I don't think so."

"No?"

"No. A little positive thinking never hurt too many people. You ask me that question once the sun rises, we hear the pelicans whining overhead, and see a couple frigates hovering in the sky. We'll wipe the sweat off our brows, wipe it on our shirts, then shake each other's hands. And once we set foot aboard the deck of the UNSC _Glorious__Day_, you want to ask me, 'Was it worth it?' and then I'll give you my answer."

"All right. Will do, Private," Blunt offered a rare smile. 

Sergeant Blunt talked to more men, joining in with them. Even Queen had slung his MA5U over his shoulder and found a long stick about his height. He was animatedly retelling a tale which had obviously been made up, motioning with the stick, slashing and stabbing at thin air. The marines were entertained and went along with it anyway. Blunt saw the lieutenant hold rear guard with a scowl on his face and throwing what looked like a great sulk. Dawson volunteered a story recounting the events of a school chemistry experiment which went wrong at every step, generating a laugh or two from Blunt. Hill announced they would reach the next beacon before noon the next day, and all was well for the time being.

The sun had already set, and the marines were grumbling about the cold, the bugs, and the constant bumping into trees. Queen had complained that sooner or later someone would take a step forward and drop off the edge of a cliff they could not see. The captain agreed it was a stupid way to die, considering all the men had gone through.

"We'll stop here for a few hours, and get going once the sun comes up," Hill told his men. 

Burns looked around the site. "I don't like it. It's too exposed."

"If you can find me a cave… or a five-star hotel while you're at that, I'd be grateful," the captain snapped. "Anyone up for guard duty?"

When no one volunteered to do so, Queen rolled his eyes and said, "Draws straws, then. But I want to see some one looking out with his rifle loaded when I wake up tomorrow."

Nichols shrugged and raised his hand. "I'll do it, but I ain't sitting up for five hours straight. Bradley's up in two."

"Fine, asshole. Enjoy your sit," came a muffled reply.

Sergeant Queen woke suddenly and yawned. Looking around, his shook his head with a disgusted grunt. He checked his watch and crawled over to Bradley, who was fast asleep with his head on his rucksack. The sergeant dropped a flashlight on the private's forehead, jolting the kid from his sleep.

"What the fu—" he hissed, before seeing Queen's pissed off face. His eyebrows shot up and he sat up straight. "Is it my turn?"

"It was your turn twenty minutes ago."

Bradley ran a hand through his orange hair and scrambled to his feet. "That bastard didn't wake me up, Queen. Wanted to let me burn or something…"

The sergeant looked over the sleeping men and saw Nichols' equipment laid out, minus the man. He asked, "Where the hell is Nichols?"

"Probably taking a piss."

"If he were taking a piss, he would've got you up twenty minutes ago." Queen nudged Blunt with his foot, and the sergeant got in a crouch with his M90 at the ready. Queen said, "Nichols is missing, Blunt."

As Bradley stood up to call out Nichols' name, there was a whine of a plasma rifle. The bolt hit the private square in the face before either sergeant could warn the kid. Blunt unloaded two shells in the general direction of where the bolt originated from before Bradley's body hit the dirt. Queen had already taken off to grab his own rifle and alert the rest of the men, although the shotgun blasts already had most on their feet.

The buckshot splintered through the tree trunks and foliage, and Blunt swore he could see the shimmer of a shield taking absorbing impacts. He fired six more times into the shimmer and there was more movement around the marines. They tracked the Covies' movement and unloaded in a continuous stream of fire. More plasma slashed through the trees, melting through some marines' uniforms, causing them to drop their weapons and scream out in pain or gurgle audibly.

"Spread out!" Blunt yelled, still hammering away with _Marion_. "Spread the hell out!"

Dawson was right behind Blunt, his MA5U chattering away erratically as he hosed the area with bullets. They kept at each other's backs, seeing how they were surrounded. 

Queen had taken cover behind the largest tree he could find, as many others had found rocks and the like. It was worse than at the camp… there, they had somewhere to run. If they did so now, it's possible they'd become even more lost than they already were. All he could do was wait until his rifle or the amount Covenant forces ran dry. He could see those bastards poke their ugly heads through a clearing, fire off a few bolts, then run the hell away. 

He stared down the sights of his rifle and when plasma sizzled beside his head, he could see the stocky alien waddle off. He put three rounds into its triangular suit, and the methane tank ruptured. The grunt fell to the ground groping wildly at its suit, while another grunt came out of hiding to offer his extra supply… right into Queen's plain sight. The sergeant lobbed a grenade at the two and the second attempted to dive away, but the shrapnel tore through it and a few more Covies hiding nearby. 

Queen slapped a new magazine in his rifle and charged through the foliage to finish the job. 

Blunt pumped the now-fully loaded M90. The only reason why he was still alive was the Covenant's piss-poor aim. A grunt popped up and fired twice, both shots going wide. He filled that one with buckshot and ran towards where he expected the Covenant were coming from, unloading on the whole area. Leaves and vines disintegrated around and in front of him, as did Covies who were unlucky enough to get too close to him. 

The sergeant instinctively dropped down when he heard a squawk in front of him. Green bolts nearly singed his helmet and he saw the outline of a jackal's energy shield. The alien, seeing the human rise, lowered his weapon and held his shield in front of him to block the oncoming fire. But instead, Blunt wrapped one hand around a fragmentation grenade on his shoulder and charged forward, driving his boot into the shield. 

The sergeant rolled the grenade as the jackal brought up his pistol, but the vulture was off balance. Blunt gave it another good push backwards, and the alien tripped over a root and fell directly onto the frag. The sergeant took cover just as the explosion ripped upwards through the jackal's skinny body. 

Blunt exhaled and fed more shells into his weapon. Backtracking, he made his way to the other marines, who were beginning to cease fire. Queen also came out of the bushes, the barrel of his MA5U steaming in the night air. 

"Covies are runnin' scared," Queen commented coolly. "That's a victory for us, boys."

Hill and Burns also fell in, unscathed. About ten marines came forward, the majority from Blunt's squad and a couple from Queen's. Blunt scanned their faces and his jaw fell open. Dawson wasn't among these men.

"Dawson," he called out, quickening his pace. "Dawson, fall in!"

Blunt came to where he'd been defending before. He hadn't seen the kid when he regrouped, he assumed Dawson had met up with the others. But he wasn't standing here now. Blunt swallowed and looked to the ground, where a few marines lay dead. He turned one over and stared into Dawson's cold, accusing eyes. The private wasn't breathing, for he'd taken a bolt in the back of the head… Blunt assumed when he turned to see his sergeant run somewhere else with his shotgun blazing. 

Blunt released his grip on the kid's shoulder, the limp body flopped back over. He sat for a while until Queen approached him from behind. The man took a step forward and stared down at Dawson and said quietly, "Damn waste. Damn shame."

Blunt didn't reply, but he agreed with Queen.

"There'll come a time there's no one left to grieve over, and let's hope that day won't come. Lot of men from my squad didn't come out of this either." Queen looked around the area and told him, "Captain says we're moving again, he doesn't want you to get left."

"Be with you in a sec."

"Suit yourself. First victory down here and we can't even sit to enjoy it," Sergeant Queen muttered as he limped off.

Blunt clenched his jaw and unclipped Dawson's dog tag, turning that body into another unidentifiable corpse. Over time, the only thing that would remain of Dawson's existence was a printed name, rank, and serial number. Just another name in a computer file. Like Nichols, or Bradley, or any of the others.

The sergeant met up with the rest of the marines, and they began their march once again.

* * *

Simon Finch was growing bored of the place. It looked the same everywhere, and the world seemed to have stopped due to the stillness all around him. At least in the jungle, it was alive and moving. 

Realistically, he'd only been there for two days, but he felt like a castaway on an unknown island, kept alive only by a mysterious sanctuary. All his troubles had disappeared, and he felt more at peace than he would've onboard a halcyon-class cruiser. 

He helped himself to the food stores of the supplies. Finch wondered if Captain Hill and his men would be needing this stuff, or if they would ever meet up and share their experiences. And if civilization never found them again, would it be so bad? The most he'd get is a pat on the back and an assignment back to the frontlines. To hell with the Covies. To hell with the war.

* * *

"Are we getting any closer?" Burns was bitching more, Blunt had noticed. 

The ambush had taken its toll on the troops, with the original force reduced to less than half, then nearly halved again. Once they got into clearings that overlooked the entire valley, they could see the imposing Covenant warships sitting on top of the world. The Covies would just keep pouring out, and the marines would just keep dropping.

The walk was continued in silence, until the stink of decay and rotting flesh overpowered Blunt's senses. The other marines had smelled it as well, though Hill had dismissed it and reassured them it was probably the vegetation or some damned animal carcass. Shit was always rotting in the jungle.

One of the recruits, probably with a keen nose, broke the path and tried to pinpoint the source. He found it, all right. He found it and puked out his guts. When the marines came to see what he'd saw, they all wanted to follow suit. 

In an open area of the jungle, there were bones which looked a day or two old… human bones. Some still had chunks of flesh attached, and the flies were swarming over each other to get at it. The place was almost soaked in blood, and they could see the tattered remains of marine uniforms. Most disturbing of all, however, was the severed heads of each man spread out or lying in a pile. They could only assume they were sawed off with an energy sword before the jackals were allowed to feast. 

Queen's eyes were wide, because even through the decomposition, he could recognize the men from his squad. Blunt had wondered if the marines they'd left behind in the camp were dead, but this confirmed his suspicions. Now he wished he could have given Dawson a proper burial.

"Jesus Christ," Hill finally said, nearly dropping his rifle. "Did the Covies know we were coming?"

"That, or they were having a midnight snack when a patrol got a hold of Nichols, here," Burns said. The body of Nichols was still in one piece. "They probably didn't have the time to eat him, just come after us."

"What now, Captain?" Blunt asked, already drained from the events of the day.

"Screw the Covenant finding us. Torch it," Hill said heatedly. "Light it up, and we continue to the beacon."

It was as good a burial as any. The men found dry leaves and branches to lay across the pile of corpses. They dropped a few matches in and struck up lighters. 

Queen held his lighter to a branch and used it to light up a cigarette. The package was empty. He knew these men… a good number were his friends from time ago, and now they were mutilated and presented for the world to see. It filled him with guilt to have abandoned them when he did, and it was like Sigma Octanus was not letting him forget. They'd come back to haunt him. They begged for revenge, even if they could no longer stand up and talk to him. 

"_There'll come a time there's no one left to grieve over…"_

He watched the pyre go up in smoke, and the Captain motioned for them to get going.

Sergeant Queen took a drag on his stick, and threw his last cigarette into the flames.


	6. Spiral into Chaos

Captain Hill had announced that the beacon was just up ahead, and that he and Blunt were going to scout ahead first so they didn't all walk in blind. He told the lieutenant to secure the area for when they got back, so the remaining marines took a break with their rifles within arms' reach. 

Queen was checking over his ammunition supply when Burns crouched down beside him facing the opposite direction.

"He's going to get us all killed, you know." Burns said this so only Queen could hear. The sergeant stopped what he was doing, but didn't acknowledge the lieutenant. The officer continued, "How many more men do you want to lose, Sergeant?"

"What the fuck do you want me to say?" Queen snarled, shooting the lieutenant a glare. "I don't call the shots."

"If you did, you think they'd still be alive?"

"I don't know. I don't talk in 'if"… you don't change the past."

"I know," Burns said with a frown. "But you _can_ change the future, Sergeant."

"If you're going to tell me you've found God and all that…"

"Shut your mouth and listen. Would you rather lose them all when you had the chance to save them, or would you lose one and save as many as you possibly can? To me," Burns said, "the choice is pretty damned simple."

"Yeah," Queen stared at his clenched fists.

"So…"

"When?"

"You'll know."

* * *

Finch packed himself a few bottles of water, protein bars, and a brand new rifle. He set a hand on his M6 pistol which sat snugly in its holster and dropped a box of rifle ammunition into his bag. He was leaving.

After three days in a place where the clock never ticked, wandering the ruins like a ghost in a castle, he needed to get out. He pondered, if the inhabitants of a man-made city were to disappear and were forgotten, everything in the city would stop… would see an eternity of stillness if the world outside the concrete and steel didn't interfere. 

Finch didn't have a purpose anymore, and he didn't fancy living in the ruins for the rest of his life, where once he died, all traces of his existence would vanish. Yet, the stone blocks and hardened instacrete around him would remain unchanged by time. The prospect drove him mad. This place drove him mad.

As well, growing facial hair was the only thing he'd accomplished so far and the curiosity and possibility of survivors gnawed at him. Even if he'd find them all lying face-down and riddled with holes, it would bring him some measure of peace. If he ran into Covenant, it'd just bring him closer to his fallen comrades and farther from insanity. 

He stared back at the faceless ruins for a moment and took a step back. Then Simon began his journey.

* * *

"You got a family, Blunt?" Hill asked, making his way through the overgrowth.

"If you'd call it that," the sergeant replied. "Ex and a kid, I think."

"They miss you much?" The captain pushed his way through a low branch.

"Probably not. I wasn't home a lot when we _were_ together… fighting wars and all. Not even sure the kid's mine."

"Where'd you all live before?"

"Suburban nowhere, I suppose. After the break up, she left for Earth. Can't say I was overly sad… of course, I was reading the letter in one hand and shooting at aliens with the other," Blunt said with a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Hill studied the sergeant's weary face with a quick glance and told him, "But it's good you got someone. Mine were still on Harvest when the Covies hit."

Silence. Then, "I thought there was an evacuation."

"There was." Hill continued bitterly, "They told me they tried their best and that they couldn't save all of them. I was convinced I saw half the colony walk off those boats that day, and all the while I was asking myself why _these_ people survived. What made 'em so special that the Covenant wouldn't claim them? What decided who lived or died?"

Blunt kept silent, stepping through the grassy path. Hill kept talking. "But I should've been asking myself if I could have done something. But the answer was, I couldn't have stopped it. Was it inevitable? That depends… do you believe in fate, Sergeant?"

The non-com thought for a minute before replying, "I believe in luck just a little more. But nobody's destined to die, Captain." Blunt sighed and said, "If no one came out of Harvest alive, would you feel better?"

"At times, I think I would. I wouldn't have had to be the only one standing alone in a happy crowd..."

"But you don't mean that."

"What, you suddenly start believing in the greater good and self sacrifice?" Hill spat.

"As much as the next guy, Captain… You realise, the Covies murder everyone who gets in their way, armed or not. And what your family died for wasn't even the greater good, there's no denying that. If anything, I'll chalk whatever happened up to a lack of support. If we had the fleet hovering over the planet, we could have saved them all. Or we could have lost the fleet."

"Yeah. You pit two equally trained armies against each other… who walks away in the end?"

"There's no one who can answer that, Captain. Both guys have a fair chance to win. There's too many factors add up to determine who. But fate isn't one."

"Hell, maybe it's what I tell myself to relieve the pressure," Hill said, speaking through his teeth. "I hear the men talking. They're blaming this all on me."

Blunt thought of Dawson and the numbers that just added up. He could see how the men thought their captain was hanging them out on a line for Covie target practice. Was this worse than '25? This time, they had no naval support, reinforcements, or a position to fall back to. It was like they were trying to retreat from the oncoming Covenant, running backwards and blind through the trees, but never reaching that position. As always, too many men stumbled on the uneven ground and were left behind. And the private he thought would at least live this one out and follow him into many other battles stared up at him with cold eyes…

"How about you, Sergeant? You think it's my fault, too?"

"It's not." As Blunt said this, the private picked himself up, as did the other dead marines, and together they limped off into the distant battlefield in a staggered formation with their rifles held high. He couldn't put all of this on the Captain. It wasn't easy to blame the giant you couldn't see or kill completely, so they turned to the next best thing. Their leader.

"But that's not what you think."

"To be honest, Captain, it doesn't matter what I think. I could blame the commander for dropping us off here, but she's dead. I could blame the higher-up who really fucked us over at the top of the chain, but I don't know who that is." The sergeant turned his head to face the officer. "All I do know, Hill, is that you've done your job as best you could in a situation I doubt the rest of us could handle. These might not even be acceptable losses, but they're losses nonetheless. We just have to leave them be and fight the Covenant as if they were still beside us."

Captain Hill's gaze lowered and he nodded, understanding the sergeant.

"But since we're still in this mess, we'll continue on strong. _You_ continue on strong, Captain." Just as Blunt said this, he brushed apart a few overhanging leaves and the two came to a clearing. 

Ahead, the cliff they stood on dropped steeply into the world below. They could see the entire valley as it was, green trees and churning rivers. In the centre of it all was a concrete formation of buildings and a stone structure that reached towards the sky. Encircling this was a river that had carved its way through the rock, cutting through the layers of sediment until it was a good hundred metres or so below. Tall as a few Grav-ball fields stacked end on end. There was a wooden bridge connecting the two, seemingly made of logs lashed together with rope and iron bracings. Best of all, however, was the shape of a pelican set down peacefully inside that fortress. 

"Well, Captain, keep holding on and we'll get through this yet," Blunt told him with an encouraging smile. 

"Nearing the end," Hill said, keeping his eyes on the view. "They were close as well, y'know, back on Harvest. A lot of people told me how they were only killed during the last stage of the evacuation. I don't know what hurts worse, knowing if they never had their chance to escape, or failing right before the end."

Blunt didn't answer this. He was also watching the fortress as it stood on its own, separated from the savage world outside. Blunt's M90 rested lightly in his hands, and Hill's rifle held upright with the strap swaying lightly in the wind as they stood on top of the world.

The sergeant looked at the sun, beginning to set behind the mountains. "We should probably get moving, if we want a head start on those supplies."

"Radio Burns and see if they can start looking for a way to the bridge." The captain motioned and they started their hike back down.

"Lieutenant, this is Sergeant Blunt, do you read?"

"_Blunt! Where the hell are you two? Covies managed to ambush us and we had to get out of there."_

"Anyone hit?"

"_No, some of us are a little grazed, but we're all together at a river's edge. Looks deep."_

"Just head upstream until you find a wooden bridge and if you see a tall stone tower, proceed until we find you, Lieutenant."

"_Fine with me. Over and out."_

Blunt told Hill and the two broke into a run, deviating from the path on the quickest route to the river. The leaves whipped at their faces as the two zigzagged around the trees. Sure enough, two grunts popped out of hiding. Blunt's buckshot shredded through the decomposing log, managing to injure one. Both marines ignored them and continued on without breaking stride. No point in making sure they were good and dead if the rest of the Covies were at the front door. Burns didn't specify whether it was a patrol or the entire army, but they had to assume the worst.

Three minutes later, they neared the opening. Through the gaps in the branches, they could see the bridge. Almost there…

Hill suddenly held up a hand, pushing Blunt back. He looked through the trees and back into the depths of the jungle. He held a finger to his lips and motioned for Blunt to wait. The sergeant nearly yelled out to ask what for, but instead he trusted the man. Hill jumped through the foliage into the sunlight and stumbled to the bridge, out of breath. Blunt neared without being seen, watching his captain.

On the bridge, there was a lone marine holding an assault rifle. It was pointed in the general direction of the trees, but when Hill appeared, the rifle lowered slightly. It was the lieutenant.

Hill approached the bridge with a smile. "You waited for me."

Burns narrowed his eyes and looked past the captain. Touching his radio, he asked, "Where's Sergeant Blunt?"

The captain shook his head and said, "Lost sight of him back a ways. Covenant must've killed him already."

The lieutenant nodded and clicked off his radio. After a moment, he said, "Queen's upset with your leadership, Hill. But me, I just don't like you."

After realising what the man intended, Hill grabbed at his rifle, while Burns leveled his own at the captain's chest. A shot rang out, catching Hill in the right side. 

Blunt watched in horror when both men brought up their weapons, and behind the lieutenant, he saw the forest light up from the flash of a single shot. On the bridge, Hill dropped his MA5U over the side and staggered from the impact. Two more shots were fired from the jungle behind Burns, this time hitting Hill twice in the chest. In that instant, the captain fell sideways off of the bridge. As he dropped, Blunt caught a look at his face, as a wave of relief and peace came over Hill's features, before he plummeted into the rapids below.

Blunt clenched his jaw and fought back the urge to run into the open and put a few rounds into the lieutenant. He hadn't heard any of the conversation, but he knew for a fact that Hill was dead, and Burns had something to do with it. Blunt shook his head as he saw Queen emerge from the trees on the opposite side with his rifle out in front of him. He should've taken care of the sergeant when he had a chance… some people never changed. Sergeant Blunt slunk back into the cover of the jungle.

* * *

Queen let the weapon hang down loosely as he met up with the lieutenant. He felt numb from killing another fellow marine, but Burns clapped him on the shoulder and nodded his approval.

"Good job, Sergeant," Burns said.

"Are we done?"

"Somewhat. Have the men reached the supplies?"

"The place looked clean, even though we can't find the pilot. Guy left a bunch of wrappers before disappearing."

The lieutenant brushed past him, slinging his rifle over a shoulder. Queen asked in a raspy whisper, "Was this necessary?"

Burns didn't look at him when he spoke. "You heard the captain. He already got Blunt killed, Queen. You did the men some good today. Really."

The sergeant exhaled uneasily and followed the lieutenant into the darkening surroundings.


	7. Breaking Down

Lieutenant Burns stood on the edge of the towered stone structure, his gaze sweeping over the ruins surrounding him.

When the old bunkers had been built, they were purposely lined up to act as some sort of wall for the defenders to concentrate their fire easier. But after the twenty plus years since the war, Burns saw that the UNSC had bombed the holy shit out of the defense positions, rendering them unusable. So the lieutenant had decided to pull the men back to the nearly unscathed temple in the middle, dubbing it their "fortress", the bunker wall working to block off two of the four sides of the jungle which surrounded them.

It was obvious the rebels had used the fortress as a command centre because construction had taken place in and around the structure, strengthening it and making the place more defensible. The majority of original ramps had been taken apart most likely with explosives or more sophisticated tools, leaving a single concrete walkway (also a new addition) which was big enough to fit two warthogs side by side. It rose at about a thirty degree angle, turned right and straightened out so it was suspended twelve metres up in the air, then connected with the fort. The only way into the place.

Queen stepped around two marines busy hauling a large container of ammunition up the walkway. He let his eyes wander, taking in the view. He assumed that during the war, his company skipped over this fortification and pressed into the rebels' main camp. Although, the scale of the entire battle was quite large… he'd heard stories of other units laying siege to such fortification. When the runner came down to his position to inform the captain to push forward, everyone was just eager to get moving at last. They never questioned how they were suddenly winning. Now Queen saw how the base as it might have been before, dozens of bunkers bristling with machine guns and men. He couldn't imagine the number of casualties the UNSC had to have lost in clearing out the place, if they did at all.

Then he understood. The rebels had thought the UNSC were sending all they had to take what they (the marines) believed was the rebel headquarters, so they sent over reinforcements to thin out their enemies. All the while, Queen's unit was sent to raid a supply depot which just turned out to be home base. The original plan was to force the rebels out of the fortress (which Queen was now standing on) by killing everyone else. Some bastard higher-up must have thought that the shitty conditions would be enough to drive the marines to near-insanity so they would take their revenge on the rebels when they had the chance.

It worked.

If Hill hadn't stopped him from executing the second man, he would have moved on to the other survivors without a second thought. And the battle that took place here was swept underneath the goddamned rug.

Back when Hill was alive, things at least made sense… Sure, he was upset with the loss of his friends. And Sergeant Blunt. While he wasn't best buddies with the man, he respected his fellow NCO. Queen shivered, feeling the scar on his leg throb. This was a road he didn't particularly want to be on, but Burns was convinced everything was necessary if they wanted to live.

He came up behind the lieutenant, who was still staring at the land. Two marines were sitting on boxes checking over the newfound weaponry and equipment, taking note of what they had available. As Queen passed, a hand on the strap of his rifle slung over his right shoulder, they glanced at the sergeant. When he turned his head to make eye contact, they both looked away and continued working.

He didn't know if they were accusing him, or if they were seeing if he felt the same as they did. Guilt. They were all in on it when Burns first proposed the mutiny nonchalantly. Burns didn't have the balls to kill the captain, and any one of these privates might have missed the shot or chickened out. If that was the case, it was bad news for everyone. Queen wasn't too concerned about consequences. When they got home, if they all kept their mouths shut and told the same story, no one could tell if they were lying. If word did get out about it, he could always justify the murder somehow, overselling his want to get his men home alive. Or better yet, he could just pin the blame on Burns. The most he'd receive is a dishonourable discharge and maybe face jail time. But the Covies were coming… anybody who can fight needs to pick up a rifle and get to killing. And he already knew all the steps.

Queen finally came to a stop beside the lieutenant. Burns eyed him and asked, "How's progress?"

"Hugh thinks he can get the pelican started up. Her pilot locked her up some just before he left."

"That mean we'll be getting a ride out?"

"I wouldn't count on it even for air support just yet, but I'll keep you updated."

"You said 'air support', Queen? What did you have in mind?"

"You know they're coming, LT. We all know, but the boys are just keeping it down. Place like this, I don't much fancy the odds of us coming out of this unscathed."

Burns smiled, showing a bit of his teeth. "Then we'll just have to kill our way out of here. Whoever survives I'll recommend for a promotion."

Queen clenched his jaw and inhaled sharply, but Burns ignored him and kept talking. He asked, "How goes the preparation?"

"We're making good time, I suppose. Hunter's in charge of anything that goes boom. He's got most of the charges set up around the jungle, some surprises around the fort, and he's lining the undersides of the walkway with explosives."

"How about weapons and ammunition?"

"We found two .30 cal GP machine guns packaged up in the pelican… and a Jackhammer."

"Just one? What about rockets?"

"Enough to prevent an air-to-ground assault. I think a lot of the hardware was still on the _Boxer_ when she went up. But there's nothing more we can do. This stuff should keep us high and dry for a while."

"So we're all good?"

"As good as it gets."

The two men looked onto the valley awash in the golden rays of the setting sun. And for the moment, they owned the world.

* * *

Finch held his rifle by one hand and glanced around. It was still unused, and weighed him down. The gnarled trees surrounding him stretched on forever, and he clumsily stumbled over the vegetation. His breaths were shallow and laboured, and he was drenched in perspiration… he was unused to the humid climate and terrain.

The pilot dropped his rucksack and rifle for a moment and propped his back up against a large rock situated beside a cool stream. Mist rose off the water into the light of the last hours of the day, which fell across the stream in patches. For such a lush environment, the forests were lifeless. Finch was surrounded by an unsettling silence which whispered death… decay… isolation. He was very much alone.

…he thought.

Finch heard a slight rasping interwoven with the sloshing and trickling of the water behind him. He wrapped his hands around the rifle and slowly stood. Taking a step forward to the water's edge, he saw another figure standing very still. The man's face was dirt-caked and scratched up. Clothes hung off of the man's body—the material ripped apart and blood-soaked in a dozen places. With a trembling hand, a shotgun hung down motionless as if its weight were draining the life out of the marine.

After a moment of staring at each other, Finch broke his stare and bowed his head slightly. What he was staring at was obviously something his mind had conjured up, playing tricks on him. That, or it was this place. Something wasn't right with it.

He had finally broke, it looked like.

But that man, standing at the edge. He looked dead, or close to it anyway. Finch couldn't explain it… was it a sign?

_You cross over there, to that place… and something'll surely end you._

* * *

The few days spent alone in the forests and swamps had not been kind to Sergeant Blunt. A dozen times he found himself running for his life. From Covies… noise… demons… More than half of those times he'd fallen down, kept going. He'd burned through the last of his supplies and he stalked through the trees like a primal beast. Underneath the hard exterior was now a feverish and crazed man.

He dragged _Marion_ along the ground with no strength left to carry the thing proudly as he did. Before.

Blunt ran his tongue over his dried and cracked lips. He glared at the man who stood across from him no more than ten metres away, across the width of the stream. He didn't recognize him, but he was too tired to even care and instantly assumed he was part of Burns' crew. He was about to bring his shotgun up to take care the man, but before the command could be sent to his hand from his brain, another figure appeared in the middle of the stream. Blunt's eyes narrowed as the man in the water turned to face him.

Captain Hill looked straight at Blunt with a cold frown. The water ran over the toes of his boots as he made his way over to the opposite bank and stood in front of the other man.

The light which fell through the canopy had engulfed the man with the rifle, making it seem almost supernatural and otherworldly. Of course, Sigma Octanus II was hardly normal, and it was like evil had manifested deep into the roots already.

Hill pushed down his helmet with a hand and assumed a combat stance. He began to walk upstream, still in the water. Blunt didn't track the dead officer with his eyes any longer, and concentrated on the one who hadn't moved for all this time. Sure, he was another ghost. Or the mental stress getting to Blunt. He could go either way on it, but he was sure about one thing.

_Place was a god damned graveyard, its haunts and spirits still roaming._ _Where else are they gonna go? _

He saw two unreal apparitions. If there was anyone else from the original platoon still alive, Blunt knew he would have found them by now.

Or maybe he just did.

* * *

As Finch turned to head back the way he came, so did his hallucination. The pilot knew it was time to go back to familiar territory. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the marine had disappeared completely. He really was going insane…

He hiked up to the large cliff, overlooking the valley below. In the centre was the fortress he'd left behind, but he suddenly saw over a dozen figures moving around the ruins. He hoped it wasn't just his imagine again, but he felt a sense of calm come over him. For once in a long while, he felt hope.

The sky was dimming rapidly now, but Finch felt he could take his time. He was finally closer to home than ever.

* * *

Blunt had seen Hill wandering around again, and this time he followed the captain. He was led to a cave, where Hill glanced over his shoulder and stepped into the darkness. He wanted to ask the ghost why he had brought him here, but the thing that looked like the captain had not spoken since he first saw him. Blunt found his flashlight and scanned the interior of the cave, and discovered that it opened into a vast network of tunnels. On one of the walls, there was a piece of metal bolted to the stone. Closer inspection revealed it to be a series of directions, pointing him in the direction of a man-made tunnel. Where it led, he was about to find out.

* * *

Finch hugged the trunk of a tree, pressing his back tightly to the thick bark and willed himself to stay silent and slow down his breathing. Behind him he heard the smattering of heavy and light footfalls from Covies on the move just three metres from where he hid. There had to be over three patrols' worth of soldiers spread out in loose formation, and many more to come following short distances apart. They moved quickly and quietly, light alien chatter from the lesser ranks was silenced by guttural growls from superior officers. Finch could see the coloured glowing of their weaponry and the moonshine off their armour.

He had the basic idea of the area mapped out, and estimated it was a twelve minute run from here to the wooden bridges, and shortly after, the ruins. He needed to warn the men, get them ready for the assault. He took in a deep breath and silently checked over his rifle, to see if it was still in firing condition. And it still had a full magazine.

Finch needed to concentrate on running as hard as he could, not stopping or losing his balance on the uneven ground. When he was ready, he sprung from his hiding place and fired off four shots into the formation of surprised Covenant. He wasn't used to handling the rifle, and he suspected most or all of his shots went wide. But there was no turning back.

He dropped the rifle and rucksack, and took off through the trees, the alien screams chasing him through the night.

* * *

"You heard shots?" Queen already had his rifle in his hands as a couple marines reported back to him.

"Four, quick and uneven, some distance from here. Don't know if they were fired by one of us, but I don't know of any animal that makes a sound like that."

"Get everyone. Might be trouble coming, and if we can hold 'em off at the bridge, all the better."

The marine nodded and ran to gather the rest. Queen motioned and began to run for the bridge.

Sergeant Queen peered through the foliage with his rifle at the ready, scanning the opposite cliff over the river below. Night had fallen, but the area was awash in a fiery red… the bridge was ablaze. Smoke was billowing out of the roaring flames and clouding up the area. He could barely make out shapes across the river.

Queen looked through the fitted scope on his rifle, sweeping the crosshair back and forth rapidly until someone yelled out and pointed. Through the haze, there was a dark shape charging forward at a dead run.

"Shee-it, he's going straight for the bridge!"

The sergeant's finger faltered for a second, as he swore he could have seen the shape slow down as he saw the bridge on fire, killing his speed to give up… He had seen Covenant soldiers run through minefields to accomplish their goals, and fire did almost nothing to their protective armour.

The marines beside him urged him on, their voices overlapping and growing louder.

"_C'mon, Queen! Shoot the Covie!"_

"_Drop the bastard!"_

"_Kill that fucker!"_

"QUEEN. FIRE NOW."

_Can't risk the lives of the men right now. Not today._

Queen squeezed the trigger, letting off a single shot. The muzzle flashed and the crack echoed throughout the clearing. He saw the shape convulse once as it took the bullet and crumpled. His men whooped loudly and yelled obscenities across the river. To the sergeant, the world went hushed, and he felt a sinking feeling in his gut.

He'd fought the Covenant enough to know they never went down with just one bullet…

At that moment, the fire had burned through most of the logs and the bridge, unable to support itself, collapsed into the river below. The area darkened as the flames were doused.

That final wavering light, and the path out of there… was gone. They could only count the minutes they had left to live, before the Covies would come down on them harder than a sidewinder hailstorm.

* * *

Blunt tore down the passageway, re-energized from setting the bridges alight. He was boxing in his prey, herding the cattle for the slaughter. A small gap the marines couldn't jump over was of no hindrance to the Covenant. Queen's men might have thought they bought themselves more time, but Blunt knew better. Now they couldn't run and hide.

He'd found a hidden rebel weapons cache in the tunnels, and he'd picked up a dull machete they had once used to hack through the thick foliage. The blade felt good in his hand, his grip was tight and unaffected by the weight. After a quick drink of water, he was ready to go to work.

_Marion_ was slung over his shoulder, and his machete sliced the air in front of him as he ran through the tunnel. Earlier in the day, he discovered that the passage led straight into the ruins and base camp. The rebels had built around the structure, adding in actual facilities and embattlements with concrete, glass, and steel. He once heard from a friend who fought here that the reigning rebels had a low casualty rate, although this had been covered up by common military censorship. Blunt knew now that the base personnel had escaped through this passage, leaving behind the wounded and a few volunteers.

Tonight, the marines wouldn't know that they were going to be attacked from all sides, including from _inside_ their little safe-haven.

* * *

The marines had placed high-powered lights around the ruins to spot any traces of Covenant. Queen's men were already lined up around the fort in good shooting positions. Queen was on the second level behind a machine gun team. The second machine gun was set up on the end of the walkway, and the marines were scattered around everywhere else. When he spoke, his face was partly lit up and darkened from the shadows and the light.

He said to them, "Covies come running, don't shoot 'less they make for the walkway. There's only one way up here, and that's through us. Stay low, and conserve your ammo. We wanna be shooting til' midday tomorrow, boys."

"How'll we know when they're coming?" A marine named Travis… he worked the machine gun beside Queen.

The sergeant scanned the tree-line and replied, "You'll just know." He checked over his rifle for the third time and held onto it loosely, waiting in anticipation for the coming fight.

He looked around and asked, "Where's the lieutenant?"

Travis shrugged but said, "He took two marines and headed off into the trees behind us. Something about setting up sensors there."

Queen clenched his jaw. He had taken inventory when they arrived and found no sensors aboard the pelican. The lieutenant was running scared…

A marine ran up the walkway, holding his helmet from flying off. He ran past the machine gun team and skidded to a halt. He looked up at Queen's perch and called out, "Sergeant! I was working on the pelican, but I think I saw something out there."

The rest of the marines looked at each other and picked up their rifles and submachine guns.

Out of the corner of his eye, Queen saw movement in the trees. Bringing the scope to his eye, he saw the shape of an elite march out of the trees. It moved slowly, as if sizing up the place. A second later, it motioned forward, and the alien soldiers came out into the clear.

Queen could almost feel the collective gasp and intake of breath from the marines as a four-score army of Covies began to move forward, with hundreds more behind them. They were just shapes… shadows and phantoms coming in out of the night and the dark forest beyond.

The sergeant looked over his marines, who were silently sweeping their rifle sights over each target, holding fire at his command. He turned to Hunter who stood beside him, holding a detonator. The private's mouth was hanging open, but he regained his composure at looked directly at him with haunted eyes.

_Every battle begins with a bang._

"Kill them."

As he said this, the seven charges they had placed went up with an earsplitting explosion, throwing up clumps of dirt, smoke, and splintering the trees in front of the fort. Almost all eighty Covies in the front were engulfed in the blast, and the bodies of the aliens who were caught in the wall of fire and shrapnel rained down in chunks. Through the smoke, the aliens waded behind the first wave, now breaking forward at a run.

An elite thundered up the concrete walkway, followed by two blue-armoured elites and a file of grunts. The leading Covie withdrew its energy sword and let out a savage howl as he turned the corner. Behind a setup of two empty metallic supply crates at the end of the walkway, Private Davis brought the sights of his rifle to his eye while the man beside him tensed and hunched over his machine gun. As the initial wave neared the midpoint, Travis' .30 cal opened up.

The private mashed his thumbs down on the trigger buttons, and the .30 cal chattered and rattled in response, raining down a hail of bullets on the group of Covenant. He hosed down the walkway with a long burst. The grunts were instantly mowed down, one's methane tank hissing, ruptured. The elites continued forward until the machine gun on the end of the walkway let loose, cutting through the larger aliens. With a dying, throaty gurgle, the leading elite finally toppled over, his armour dripping with blood.

And more Covenant began fanning out around the fort, others continuing up the ramp.

* * *

Private Connor looked up, startled by the explosion outside. He had been looking for spare ammunition, but now he heard the arrival of the Covenant. He slapped on his helmet and reached for his rifle, when suddenly there was a loud metallic screech behind him. He whirled around as the grate came free and a dark shape bounded out. Before Connor could scream, the creature swung an arm and the private felt a sharp pain in his throat… and the warmness of his blood spurting out of the wound. He fell backwards, his hands clutching his neck and before he thought he would bleed out, he had enough time to see the creature raise his arms above his head and quickly bring them down.

The machete cleaved into the marine's skull. Blunt pulled it free with a sickening _skulch_ and let the blood drip off the blade. As he neared the door, he heard the pounding of footsteps thunder towards his direction. Blunt stood off to the side, waiting. When the door burst open, he leapt from his hiding place.

He could see the whites of the marine's eyes as he angled the machete at his head with a horizontal chopping motion. The man threw himself backwards, and the blade bit into his shoulder. The marine dropped his rifle and it clattered to the ground. Blunt brought the machete back for another swing, but the marine struck out with his good arm, catching Blunt in the jaw. Momentarily stunned, the machete was kicked out of his hand.

Recovering, Blunt bounded over the rifle and put his full weight into a tackle, knocking the marine off his feet. Both men went down, hands at each others' throats. They rolled around on the dusty concrete floor, struggling to gain the upper hand. The man released a hand and his palm connected with Blunt's forehead, which, in turn, smashed into the ground. Before the marine could deliver a killing blow, Blunt wrapped a leg around his assailant's own, and threw him off.

Still feeling dazed, the sergeant got to his feet unsteadily, while the marine did the same. Blunt reacted faster, and, once again, was right in front of his opponent. He let out two strong blows, and pinned him to a wall. The marine kicked at the sergeant's shin, but he wrapped a hand around the marine's mouth and pushed, dislocating his jaw. The marine howled and was still for just a second. A second was all it took.

Blunt drove his palm upward into his nose. The body slumped against the wall and fell with a solid thud.

Blunt moved both victims into the hidden tunnel and replaced the grate, leaving behind no trail of bodies. He exited the room, stepping into the harsh glare of the generator-powered lights in the corridor.

* * *

Queen emptied the last few rounds of the magazine into a jackal making a run for the walkway. The energy shield dissipated as it hit the ground with two puffs of purple blood, hardly visible to the sergeant. He switched out mags and resumed firing.

The battle was heating up, and the Covenant had not found any other ways up to the fortress. Hopefully it stayed that way, but the marines were burning up ammo quick. They'd conserved as much as they could, but the Covies were sparing no one and ran to their deaths in the hopes of wearing their enemies down. In the light of the moon, Queen could see them... the ground below was crawling with enemies, truly a wave of flesh and metal.

He heard a soft whine and as he scanned the trees for whatever was making the sound, it began to grow louder. Lights started to flash and over the treetops came what the marines had been dreading. Two banshees and a single drop ship… they were testing out the marines' defenses.

Queen lowered his rifle for a moment and yelled out to them, _"Everyone, get down!"_

The drop ship opened fire, the large bolts narrowly missing the perch. The sergeant stood up and roared, "Packer! Get that jackhammer and take out this bastard!"

The private with the rocket launcher replied in affirmation and set the jackhammer on his shoulder and assumed a firing stance. After a few seconds of tracking the drop ship, Packer let loose the projectile. It streaked forward into the night and impacted one of the drop ship's troop bays. The craft shook in mid-air, her pilot struggling to regain control while both banshees broke away in evasive barrel-roll maneuvers. Less than a second after, Packer fired off the second rocket at the flaming drop ship, scoring a hit on one of the engines. It veered off course, lost what little altitude it had and smashed into the ground some distance away from the fort. But through his scope Queen could just make out alien figures crawling out of the troop bay, engulfed in flames.

Now the banshees nosed downwards and began their strafing run in response. Their plasma cannons fired and stitched lines in the ground as they buzzed past the entire fort, leading up the walls where one marine cried out after receiving deadly burns. Packer ignored the stench of burnt flesh as he looked for the banshee—coming around for a second pass. With a set of fresh rockets, he steadied the jackhammer. The banshee made a mistake of turning too close to the fortress, eager to kill. Just as it made to turn, the rocket whooshed out of the barrel and headed straight for the alien machine. If it was not going straight, it was difficult for its pilot to execute a ballsy maneuver. There was nothing the pilot could do as it watched the projectile zoom closer.

The banshee went up in a blue, plasmic explosion in that momentarily hazed night sky, and the marines cheered and praised Private Packer. He grinned and began to look for the second banshee after brief revelry. It had broken off the attack and was hovering around, maybe weighing its options for the moment. To be stagnant in the thick of battle was a far ballsier move than any one Covenant troop had ever exuded in all Packer's short but eventful time in service; he could think of nothing easier, nothing more opportune than to seek new position and obliterate such an easy yet highly valuable target, but the marine didn't have a good shot. He headed up to Queen's perch and tried again, but found he needed just a little more angle. Packer stood on the edge and put the banshee in his sights. Perfect.

Just as he was about finish it off, there was a beam of light, and his chest exploded in a spray of blood. He heard Queen yell and as he lost his balance, he could see the sergeant make a grab for him.

He was too late.

Packer fell backwards off the perch into the milling horde of Covies below, along with the only rocket launcher they had.

Queen swore as he saw the private go over the edge. If the drop didn't kill him, the aliens would surely tear him to pieces. To make matters worse, the lone banshee screamed wildly as it made for the hovering fleet of warships unseen by ground. The sergeant assumed it was going back to report, and soon after, the sky would be filled with Covie ships. The proverbial cavalry had gotten wind of this growing battle and decided to crash the party. He had to cut his losses before that happened. It was time to fall back into the facility. But first, he needed to slow the infantry aliens down.

"Hunter, get ready to demo the walkway. Davis! Pull back and stay clear of the blast zone! Okay," he said to the demolitions expert, "do it!!"

Hunter nodded and thumbed the remote detonator. Queen waited for the subsequent explosion, but after two seconds, he saw that the walkway was very much intact. The marine beside him slapped the detonator in his palm and tried again. Nothing.

"Something's wrong. Explosives aren't going off."

"You're fucking with me! That walkway is going to _disappear_ when the joke's over, right?"

Hunter paled and held up his hands. "Could be faulty wiring... I have no idea what kind of conditions these materials were in before I threw them together, Queen." The haunting in his eyes returned.

"Didn't you line the underside of the walkway with C7?"

"Yeah, but I don't have a separate detonator for it. It all goes through the explosives I placed on the support column. But that's broken…"

"Then go and fix it! Take two men and get it ready again. We'll give you covering fire."

Hunter took a deep breath and looked over at the marines, who were still holding back the Covenant from running onto the bridge. Two marines volunteered, privates Graff and Ryan. They fed fresh magazines into their rifles and waited behind the newly-deployed machine gun.

A group of Covies rounded the bend on the walkway, the gunner opened up, clearing the path. On the count of three, Hunter and his escorts dashed across the walkway, descending to the ground. Seeing this, the Covenant turned their attention to those three. The rest of the marines fired off their rifles simultaneously, providing Hunter the time he needed to work. Any Covenant within a five metre radius of Hunter were instantly targeted and killed, leaving a pile of bodies steadily accumulating. Queen fired single rounds with the utmost of his possible precision, scanning for any Covie that even looked in Hunter's direction.

On the ground, Graff and Ryan had taken up positions nearby and shot at any enemy who ventured too near. They mostly fired in sustained bursts, keeping the Covies at a distance, careful not to unintentionally waste ammunition. Two elites took their chances and charged head on; one was shot by Queen in the back until its shields gave away and various other bullets penetrated its flesh. The two marines down below concentrated on the second, unloading on full auto. As the elite fell, Hunter motioned he was done, and the three began their journey back. There was a whine and a hiss as plasma bolts struck Graff in the back and side of the head. Ryan grabbed Hunter by the arm and broke into a sprint, not looking back at Graff—now dead. The Covies realized what they were doing and hurled themselves at them, all the marines trying their best to thin out the crowd. Ryan pushed Hunter up the walkway and turned to hold off the oncoming enemies. His rifle chattered for about five seconds, before he too was riddled with holes and fatal burns and fell before the mob of aliens. Hunter, hearing Ryan's dying moans, stopped halfway up the walkway and turned.

Queen just about stood up and swore. He needed the man to keep moving! He held the keys to the fortress! He saw an elite run straight at the marine, and he fired off the rest of the magazine… four rounds, all a miss.

Hunter fired wildly, screaming at the alien until the big elite grabbed him by the throat and held him up in the air. His reptilian eyes met Hunter's, and he was just about to throw him off the walkway when the marine removed the detonator from his pocket. With a "see you in hell", he thumbed the detonator. Before the elite could throw down the human, the walkway finally exploded in a fiery flash which consumed the marine and the alien together.

Queen covered his face to shield his eyes from the explosion, and when the boom and the heat wave faded, he looked up to see a squadron of Covie drop ships bearing down on his position.

* * *

Blunt snuck through the facility, hearing the noises of battle outside. He felt inclined to let the Covenant finish off the marines, but Queen hadn't put down his arms yet, and he still needed to find Burns.

Until the solution presented itself.

Down a hall, he heard radio chatter. Finding a portable set in a room, he heard a voice come through: _"Is anybody there? Do you read?"_

Burns.

Blunt picked up the headset and replied, "Yes, Lieutenant, I read you."

"_It's about time! Who'm I talking to?"_ There were sounds of gunfire and alien screams on the other end.

"It's Sergeant Blunt, Lieutenant."

Silence.

"_Blunt? I need you to send over a detail of men to get me back to base. Ran into a little trouble—"_

"I can't do that, sir."

Blunt could almost hear the lieutenant grinding his teeth together.

"_What did you just fuckin' say, Sergeant?"_

"I can't. I'm dead, Lieutenant. Or… did you honestly worry about me, these past few days?"

"_I won't lie. Hill told me he lost you, Blunt."_

"Before you killed him."

"…_What the hell are you talking about!? The Covies got him, Blunt, or are you too delirious to think straight?"_

Blunt exploded. "No! Don't you _fucking_ play mind games with me, Burns! We both watched him die. You may not have shot him, but you would have if Queen wasn't up to the task!"

"_Sergeant, now is not the time to argue over what you think you saw. I just need the reinforcements, and then we'll talk about it when I get back."_

"That's not going to happen, Burns."

"_Goddamn you, Sergeant! Are you deficient? I am giving you a direct order, marine! You listen to me! I—"_

"Shut up, Burns. You're fucked beyond rescue."

"_Put Queen through, you son of a bitch."_

"Queen's dead."

"_Dead?"_ Burns was incredulous.

"Going to be," Blunt corrected. "Good bye, Lieutenant. I'll see you soon."

"_You can't leave me out here here, Blunt! I'm gonna come back, and once I do, I'll tear you limb from limb, you twisted—"_

Blunt withdrew his shotgun and destroyed the radio. The blast echoed through the narrow confines of the room, the noise hammering into Blunt's skull. The casing popped out and tumbled to the ground. He shook his head and continued on. Seconds later, he heard an earth-shattering roar and felt the vibrations shake loose pieces of concrete from above. He kicked open a door and saw he had made it outside. His eyes widened.

He was hoping to feel the cool night air on his skin, but instead, Blunt found himself staring at Hell.

* * *

Queen fought the urge to yell triumphantly and pump his fists as he stood above the sea of fire—to be precise, the sea of hot, burning napalm. As soon as he saw the drop ships appear out of the night, he picked up the last detonator and set off all of the hidden fougasses in a single, brilliant explosion. The Covenant army that had been standing around the fortress ceased to exist—instantly incinerated.

The heat washed over the sergeant as he watched the raging fires from Hell light up the sky with a reddish glow. The flames encircled the fort, and he was sure the place could be seen from miles away if anyone was out there. If the Covies wanted to land, they had to go through Queen. Defiantly, he stood at the edge in front of the ever-emerging ships with his rifle across his chest at a crude Port Arms. The marines began to unload their rifles at their airbourne enemy, until the drop ships returned fire.

"_Queen."_

The sergeant heard his name, and the world around him seemed to crawl. The spent bullet casings ejected from each marine's rifle took forever to reach the ground, lazily tumbling through the air. Queen turned around and saw the form of a man masked in shadow. Light flared up to reveal the worn and bloodied face of Sergeant Blunt. Queen noticed the pent-up fury behind the man's eyes. For a long moment, they locked gaze.

"Here you stand at the top of the world," Blunt said. "Isn't so pretty after you recall the steps you took to get there."

"I did what I thought was right, Blunt. You can't hold that against me, against anyone. I thought you would understand that the most, out of everyone. You sacrifice the life of one for the lives of many, don't you?"

"I don't need to explain that what you did was murder. That won't _ever_ make it right. You might get away with it once, but it'll come back, and you _will_ be paid in full."

Queen snorted and waved his hand around. "Can't get much worse for me, Blunt. You going to apprehend me? Hold me 'til we meet up with civilization? I'm done for, anyways. All of us, we're in the same boat. The same goddamned sinking boat. If you don't realize that…"

"I do."

"You just wanted to get in a final word? Can't cheat fate, eh, Blunt? But before we die, I want you to know that I'm glad I'm dying alongside you. I don't expect you to forgive me, but just know I did it for the best." Queen's eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth finally began to curl, relieved at the prospect of his fate.

Blunt looked out past Queen into the landscape of Sigma Octanus II. He sighed, and Queen asked:

"So, we go out swinging?"

"I might."

Queen raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Do you regret it, Queen?"

He heard a scream and saw Travis take a smattering of plasma bolts in the chest and face, melting his delicate, human flesh. The other marines were lying on ground, dead or mortally wounded… some missing limbs, others bleeding out.

Queen met Blunt's eyes and replied softly, "Yeah, I do."

Blunt nodded slowly, and before Sergeant Queen could react, brought his shotgun up to his chest and squeezed the trigger. With a gaping hole in his chest, Queen's face was frozen in shock—an expression which burned into Blunt's mind—and the man's legs gave out. He tumbled backwards, over the edge into the fiery depths of Hell while the life drained out of his eyes.

Sergeant Blunt dropped his shotgun and sank to his knees, exhausted. As if preordained, a Covenant drop ship hovered overhead, and its troop bay opened up as if on cue to Blunt's grand conclusion. A death squad of elites marched out, taking their time as they approached the lone, vulnerable marine.

A gold-armoured elite, clearly the leader, activated its energy sword. It was flanked by blue-armoured elites, who looked down at Blunt with contempt, and perhaps a savory anticipation of the execution to come. The lead elite gazed at him with a look that could have been mistaken for respect and admiration. The arm of this alien reaper reared back, plasma sword shining bright like the Angel of Death. And Blunt kept his eyes open, waiting for the searing pain, followed by sweet death.

But it wasn't his time yet.

Before the elite could plunge the energy blade deep into his chest, something materialized out of thin air. In the span of two seconds, it bent down, grabbed Blunt's fallen shotgun, leveled it at the elite's head and fired. The blast cut through the elite's head, splattering fragments of skull and alien brain matter. Milliseconds later, the sound of automatic rifles filled the air behind him, downing the rest of the bewildered Covenant.

Blunt whirled around to see men dressed in UNSC armour. Two helped him to his feet in his still-lingering astonishment, while the rest had already fanned out, securing the area. Most of the world around him was simply a blur to Blunt. As the one with his shotgun walked towards him with brisk, purposeful strides, the Covenant drop ship went up in flames, nearly blinding him.

This new apparition offered him back his shotgun. He smiled warmly and introduced himself as Lieutenant Pennington. He said something about "wild party" and "hell of a job", but Blunt wasn't fully cognizant. The rescued sergeant held _Marion_ with numb hands and stared blankly at the lieutenant's face, still watching his lips move in perfect silence. He wasn't sure if the man was real…maybe Blunt really was dead.

But he somehow knew he wasn't quite done with the War. Something pulled him back from the edge, and that something put a weapon back into his arms.


	8. Leaving

_I am not a saint. I won't put myself above it all—the killing, the bloodshed—and pretend to be better than I am. _

Blunt, with _Marion_ slung over his shoulder, made his way to the waiting pelican. Time seemed to slow again; each step was heavy and leaden.

_Because the truth is, I lowered myself down. I lowered myself down to beat them. _

It seemed surreal, leaving the place he thought he was destined to die. Die, be buried, be forgotten. He was coming home now.

_And I did it. I killed them. They killed an innocent man…_

He looked at the aftermath, the charred corpses, the broken landscape. Something once so beautiful. War changes things. Changes people. A frigate hovered in the atmosphere, guarding over the world.

_I killed two guilty men. Does it balance out? Does the universe care?_

A marine offered a hand to Blunt, which he took and climbed aboard.

_All I know, is that I'm alive. I'm walking out of Sigma Octanus II. Not them. _

The other marines from Lima Company boarded their respective pelicans, and the thrusters began to hum.

_Is there a reason why? It doesn't make sense;_

Blunt's gaze was transfixed on the green, which grew smaller as the pelican ascended.

_Good… _

Lieutenant Pennington glanced at him, but the sergeant was lost in his world.

…_evil… _

The valley could be seen now in full, its twisting blue, snaking through the trees.

…_light… _

The morning sun was beginning to break out through the clouds, warming the chilly air.

…_darkness… _

A light flashed over the hatch, and the ramp started to rise.

_I've walked that road, crossed that gap _

The marines were awash in the red light of the troop bay as the final rays of sunlight disappeared behind the armoured hull.

_But I don't know if I've yet journeyed back._

* * *

**Parting thoughts**

Fin. After some time, I've finally reached the end. Instead of the great stories of brotherly camaderie, sacrifice, honour… Where Duty Ends pursues a story of betrayal, self-preservation and a realization of the darkness inside everyone. In a desperate situation, where everyone must depend on each other for survival, the characters of WDE take the other route and the group breaks down after the absence of authority, innocence—and you guessed it. I'm full of crap.

I'd like to send a great big thank you to Electromotive Force, who pretty much single-handedly pushed me to completion. This is the last story I started, and the first one that I'll end. So EmF, this one's to you.

On that note, his story, Alone: The Straight Path, is really picking up steam now, and you shouldn't even hesitate to go there and read it. Not just because Sergeant Blunt is crossing over… no, TSP is the next great read in the man's trilogy, and cannot be missed.

So with that, I leave with a thank-you to any and all who've set foot in my world. Goodbye and good night.

* * *

Here are a couple of parts I mulled over, wanting to put them in the story. Since I don't want them to go to waste, I'll just throw them out here.

**Alternate/extended opening**

The opening was my first idea, but I stopped about half way and replaced it with the opening I have now. I finished it just before completing the final chapter of WDE, and this has more of a Medal of Honor/video game feel (mainly because a lot of what I wrote below was based on some experiences I had when playing online, haha) instead of a slower paced struggle.

* * *

2525, Sigma Octanus II

His ears rang shrilly and everything was muffled. Private Blunt stared up into the grey-blue sky, idly counting his rapid heartbeat. If he was so calm, why was everything else so hectic?

Blunt wasn't lying in relaxation; he was frozen in fear and pain. The last thing he remembered was the scream of an incoming artillery shell which knocked him off his feet and blew his friend apart.

As the private struggled to rise, his hand flew to his forehead and came away with blood mixed with dirt. He groaned as he rolled to his stomach and his training came back to him. He lay prone in the murky blood-soaked and mud-filled trench searching for his weapon in what remained of the half-flooded foxhole.

He spotted the barrel of his BR45 rifle sticking up through the grimy depths. Blunt crawled forward as fast as his bruised knees could carry him, sloshing through muck. With a bit of force, he pulled the weapon free and slumped against the wall of the trench. Blunt ran a check through his rifle, and to his dismay, discovered that the horrible fighting conditions had jammed the thing, not to mention the barrel which was simply clogged full of mud. The ammunition counter read full, so he hit the release and shoved the magazine in his bandoleer, throwing the rifle aside.

His side-arm looked to be in working condition, and he slowly pulled himself out of the foxhole. Blunt was still quite dazed as he ambled to the distant sound of fighting.

Reaching a sudden slope, he peered forward through the haze and his eyes widened. He didn't know how long he was out, but the battle seemed to be out in full. Concrete bunkers bristling with machineguns were raining lead across a small river into a hastily dug trench full of UNSC soldiers. This was no small trench—there was a almost a company's worth of men up against the edge, returning fire on the bunkers. The trench stretched across the riverbank and it looked like the tide had started to rise, flooding a few sections of the dug out.

A handful of soldiers jumped into the river in an attempt to charge the concrete fortifications, but before making it even half way, they were torn to shreds due to the sheer amount of lead flying their way. Half a dozen men, lost in an instant, lost under the dirty water.

Blunt found himself frozen again. The UNSC had never expected such resistance from the rebel forces. The situations had always been under control, and only a few casualty figures appeared. But now, it was like a full blown war. Bullets and shells rained down on each side.

Somehow, he managed to get to his feet and run down to the trench without being shot. He dove head first into the pit and pulled himself upright. The nearest lieutenant quickly stole a look at Blunt's grime-caked face.

"Private Blunt reporting for duty!" he yelled over the rattle of gunfire and explosions.

"Private, what the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be at checkpoint delta!"

"Delta's not there anymore! Artillery got us."

The officer swore, and the two flinched visibly as another shell exploded a few metres away, showering them with debris.

"Grab a rifle and put some fire on those bunkers until we figure out what to do!" The lieutenant took hold of a BR45 leaning against the side of the dug-out and handed it to Blunt.

The BR45 was just a standard infantry rifle which didn't come with a scope attachment—just the optics rail, and no burst option—just single shot. It was a cheap rifle, good for long and medium engagements preferred by the marines. Spec Ops teams liked light assault weapons, fancier and lighter, like the MA2B. But for dirty, tough field work, the MA5B and BR45 were perfect.

The lieutenant emptied his rifle into the slit of the nearest bunker, yet the relentless stream of bullets did not cease. Blunt shook his head, and tapped the officer on the shoulder.

"Sir, we can't stay here. We gotta move, or we'll just be wasting ammo and men."

The officer agreed miserably. "Air support's cut off… just half a klick past the river, they got a goddamned _flak-tower_ shooting at our flyboys. Not to mention a couple of 120-mm anti-tank guns pounding the hell outta Fox company. We were supposed to link up with those guys almost an hour ago!" He tapped his lip thoughtfully and glanced over at the enemy positions which were still spitting out tungsten. "How would you feel about a charge?"

Blunt shook his head and pointed towards the middle of the river. "You saw those guys go down fast. We wouldn't last two minutes, sir."

"If we do this right, we would only need a minute or so. Just get the word down the line."

Within five minutes, every soldier in the trench was ready to spring out on the signal.

The lieutenant motioned to a nearby private with a working radio.

"We are ready and holding. Stand by," the officer told the soldier at the other end. He yelled to the rest of the marines in the trench to check their weapons. He hit the COMM and spoke into the radio.

"Okay, Benson, do it!"

Eight distant thuds sounded, and the shells hurled through the air and impacted around the enemy fortifications. It wouldn't destroy them, but it cause one hell of a distraction. And sure enough, the MGs ceased firing for a minute, while everyone inside the bunkers took cover. The UNSC troops waited for another barrage, then the lieutenant spoke into the COMM once more.

"Guns one through six, switch to secondary shells and coordinates on my mark… Mark!"

The six shells sailed through the air and exploded on the surface of the river, releasing a rich billowy smoke which suffused the entire area. It was the best time to go.

"Cease fire, cease fire!" he said into the mic. He looked forward, and began to climb out of the trench. "Let's move!" he announced as quietly as he could muster, but as loud as he could make himself heard.

The whole point was to leave the Rebels in the confusion until it was too late—until they had reached the other side. The marines had split into two groups and were cutting across the river in two columns, metres apart. If they had all jumped in and ran across, they might all be killed if the enemy MGs just decided to rake the area. In two files, both on the farthest sides from the middle, Blunt guessed they'd have less chance of being hit. He raised his rifle above his head and stepped into the swirling water and tried his best not to be swept away.

After a minute or two, they finally reached the end. The bunkers were just mere yards away, and the smoke had done its job and engulfed the bunkers as well. They hunkered down hidden in the fog and silence, waiting for the soldiers to regroup. The lieutenant blew his whistle, and as one, the remaining men charged at full speed towards the enemy.

Like phantoms or wavering mirages, the marines materialized through the smoke, running with guns blazing. Marines primed grenades and lobbed them into the slits of the bunkers, hopefully clearing out the gun decks.

The lieutenant grabbed Blunt's arm, and pulled him aside to clear out the bunkers with four other soldiers. The heavy metallic door had already come loose on its hinges from the first artillery barrage, and the officer kicked it in with a thunderous _clang! _A rebel rushed forward, and was put down by the lieutenant's sub-machine gun, along with two more. Blunt moved forward into the interior, and as soon as he turned to step into the main gun deck, a soldier ran into the barrel of the private's rifle, and he squeezed the trigger. The man flew backwards and sprawled on the concrete floor. The bullet had ripped through his torso at point blank range.

"All clear!" a marine announced, and the six moved to the next bunker.

The next bunker had a lighter door, which was unlocked. And the inhabitants inside didn't read as friendly. Blunt was instructed to prime a grenade and set it down just outside the door. As soon as the lieutenant opened the door a crack, the private kicked the explosive inside, and the officer slammed the door shut. There was a yell from inside, and the grenade went off. The lieutenant pushed in the door, and they stood with weapons at the ready.

A quick check revealed the grenade had ripped men to shreds. The other bunkers had already been cleared out, so Blunt ran to regroup with the rest of the survivors. Skidding to a halt, he saw that the marines had driven out the rebels, and were now picking off their fleeing enemies. Before they could pursue them on foot, there were a couple of booms from behind the trees, and enemy shells began to rain down, cutting the marines' celebration short.

And the fight continued.

Night had fallen, and the rebels had retreated into the large concrete fortification the marines were dubbing the _flak-tower_. The tower was really just a large underground weapons and ammunition storage bunker with anti-air and anti-tank guns situated on top. The place wasn't heavily guarded, but from their hidden positions, the marines could make out the shape of a few sentries, as well as a couple of men on the roof having a quick smoke.

The area was all dark, making a bombing run a more difficult task. But this worked to the marines' advantage. The team of marines they had designated for infiltration inched nearer to the bunker. The rest of the marines were tasked with somehow keeping rebels from operating their hardware on top. The squad snipers had been called up and given their designated targets. It was nearly time to go to work.

Each guard took a walk around the bunker once every hour, then they sat down and talked for the rest of the duration. They would be targeted when they came to a stop, so they could all be downed in a quick instant.

Blunt was given a sub-machine gun for close quarters work when he volunteered to be a part of the team that would storm the castle. The majority of the team went with assault rifles and the odd shotgun. Stealth wasn't really an issue, because after they blew the doors, they expected the entire building to be on alert. But until they could get inside, they didn't need a machine gun to open up on them when they were trying to sneak across the ground.

The guards finally came together, and before they could even get a word in to each other, there were three coughs from silenced rifles, silencing their targets. Two more coughs sounded seconds later, and two bodies dropped from the roof. The snipers looked around for loose ends, and reported the area was clear.

The team of twelve marines sprinted to the sides of the heavy steel door. One marine set aside his assault rifle and began to lay the charge on the door. Another stood behind him, scanning the perimeter. As he turned around, the slit on the door opened and a pistol fired three times into his face. Immediately, a marine whirled around and shoved the barrel of his rifle into the slit and opened up on full-auto, hosing down the interior.

"Got it! Get back!" The marine finished setting up the explosive and waved the marines off. Blunt shielded his face while the door was blasted inwards and the doorframe belched out smoke. A grenade was tossed into the room and following its detonation, the team entered the breach.

Rebel soldiers still stunned from the concussive blasts were mowed down. The team took up positions around the room, their weapons trained on all the doors. On one side, a marine pushed open a door and a second fired his weapon with a long burst down the length of the hallway. On the other side, the door burst open and a rebel charged through, but was instantly put down by a shotgun blast across the room. The alarms had begun to blare at full strength.

"Looks like we should split up and see where it takes us. Let's recap, guys. We wanna clear out as much as we can, and if we can't do that, we'll have to demo the place. We'll see if we can't capture the place, though. Might come down to us destroying the place and falling back into the jungle, if we can't hold this section." The lieutenant loaded a fresh magazine into his sub-machine gun and nodded at the marines. "Get to work."

Blunt was folded into the second team, along with the shotgun-wielding marine and four others. They peered down the hallway, and proceeded to the winding stairs at the end. Reaching the lower level, they immediately came under fire. They had just enough time to scramble to alcoves in the hallway, as fire erupted from a position behind a windowed wall. It looked like two rebels were standing behind it, emptying their automatic rifles down the corridor.

The marine with the shotgun recoiled, as the rounds pinged off the concrete walls near his face. He looked across the hallway at Blunt and grinned. "Sure makes you wish we had a flame thrower, huh?"

Blunt allowed himself a laugh and stole a look. He turned back to the marine and said, "They're panicking. They're just getting bullets down a hallway, hoping to hit something."

The marine dug into his rucksack and produced a cylindrical grenade, and Blunt motioned for the other marines to stay put. On the count of three, the marine hurled the canister at the foot of the wall. The passageway filled with smoke, and both Blunt and the marine dove down to the ground. Upon seeing smoke, the rebels fired off their weapons into the cover. The bullets whizzed overhead, as the two marines pulled themselves along the ground. It was risky, but it looked like it was working.

Soon, they were right underneath the window. They could hear the rebels talking to each other heatedly, until the marine stood up and fired his shotgun into the window. Blunt instantly looked to his right as the second man came running around the wall, and without thinking, put four rounds into him from his sub-machine gun. The rebel slumped against the concrete wall and collapsed. Blunt called out clear, and waved the other marines forward.

"Name's Queen." The marine said as he eased open a door to see if anyone was in the next room.

"Blunt," the private replied. He followed Queen through the next room, which was clear of rebels. "They're falling back?"

"To the armoury, I'm guessing. They've probably got crates full of ammo and guns, so they'll make their stand there. We'll keep moving until we see where they stop."

The team came to yet another flight of metallic stairs, which rattled and clanked as they made their way down. Coming through yet another corridor, there was a burst of fire which narrowly missed Blunt's helmet. Further down the hallway, a barrel of an assault rifle poked out from a gap in the doorway and was firing blind. Lucky for the marines, though, the hallway was probably wide enough to squeeze by if the door didn't open completely.

Blunt pulled out a grenade and chucked it at the door. It bounced off with a tinny clang, and the rebel behind the door pushed it shut. Already Blunt and Queen had reached the end of the hall. Blunt scooped up the explosive and checked that the pin was still in place. When the door squeaked open ajar, Queen stepped forward and drove his foot into the door. The metal hit connected with the rebel behind it, and Queen fired three times into the room which looked to be full of rebel soldiers. Blunt now pulled the pin and rolled it through the crack in the door, while Queen pulled it shut, sealing the rebels in.

After the ensuing blast, Blunt's team rushed in, but found the grenade had done the job. A door squeaked open on the other side of the room, and Blunt nearly unloaded the rest of his magazine, but froze when he saw the familiar green.

The lieutenant also lowered his weapon and called back to his team the area was clear. He approached Blunt and said, "Nice job, guys. We'll probably have to blow the place up, but maybe they'll back down."

The next door led down into the garage and loading bay… beyond that was the armoury. The lieutenant addressed the rebels hiding behind the storage crates. "Put down your weapons and come out of there. Or you can stay while we detonate the charges. We're fine with either choice."

There was silence from the hidden rebels. The marine lieutenant said loudly to his team, "All right, let's clear out of here. I want this place gone in five minutes—"

"Wait! We're coming!" One rebel reluctantly stood up and lowered his weapon. The rest followed, and the marines policed their rifles. The armoury was cleared out of surrendering rebels, and the lieutenant nodded with satisfaction. He looked at Blunt and told him to go inside and see what the rebels were stockpiling.

Once inside, Blunt heard a scream from outside, and was silenced by the sound of assault rifles opening up. He ran back to the vehicle bay and saw a row of rebel bodies on the ground… they had been lined up and shot. One still alive tried to make a break for it, but Blunt watched as Queen calmly brought up the shotgun and fired into the man's back.

On the other side of the vehicle bay, a shot rang out and marines began to file in and they trained their weapons at the lieutenant, Queen, and the others.

When Queen refused to lay down his shotgun, a sergeant walked forward and shot him in the leg. He yelped in pain, and fell to the ground.

Blunt watched the scene with wide eyes.

* * *

**Alternate ending**

If Blunt hadn't originated from another story, and if WDE wasn't a spin-off, this probably would have become the ending. No rest for the wicked.

But instead, no, the good sergeant lives on.

* * *

With a gaping hole in his chest, Queen's face was frozen in shock—an expression which burned into Blunt's mind—and the man's legs gave out. He tumbled backwards, over the edge into the fiery depths of Hell while the life drained out of his eyes.

Sergeant Blunt dropped his shotgun and sank to his knees, exhausted.

He was going to burn for his actions, he knew. But he had a niggling feeling that he'd done justice. And that he'd punished the sinners, it somehow made him better than them. Blunt looked up to the sky and saw dark shapes move out into the atmosphere. A light of hope flickered in him, but when he saw the bulbous shape of the enemy warships hovering overheard, he was filled with darkness.

He held out his arms, welcoming the sight. He supposed it was poetic, almost. Retribution for all. He was no hero. He wouldn't win in the end.

And the end was now.


End file.
